Walls Around Me
by ArtemisSoh
Summary: Female elven mage from pre-Blight to end DA:O. Lots of character and plot development for numerous selected DA:O individuals throughout other than OTP of Surana/Zevran. Slightly AU but should stick quite close to DA:O canon. M because it is. You have been warned.
1. The Beginning of the End

_**Standard Disclaimer: Bioware owns all Dragon Age characters and in game content. I own the bits that are left.**_

_**Author's Note:** This is my first fan fiction ever in my history of playing RPGs. Please review and let me know how I can do better. Thanks in advance._

**Chapter 1 – The Beginning of The End**

A noise woke the Keeper from her tired stupor. She gazed lovingly down at her three week old daughter cradled in her arms. She was still suckling at her breast and playfully tugging at her finger that had lain to rest on her cheeks. "You still not done yet, da'vhenan? Are you drinking or just soothing yourself now? Mamae is tired and wants to rest if you are done drinking."

Solemn brown eyes gazed up at her and slowly released her nipple. However, the hold on her finger just got tighter. "You want me to cuddle you to sleep again da'vhenan?" Her daughter gurgled happily as if in confirmation. "Come, let go of my finger for a moment while I lay you down beside me. You can have it back later."

Booted feet on dirt alerted her that whatever noise had awakened her was not natural. Suddenly wide awake, she scooped up her daughter, picked up the sling beside her bed, deposited her child into it and shook her Bonded. "Emma lath, something is not right. I am hearing booted feet in camp." Her Bonded roused immediately and started dressing. She helped with all the buckles that she had only recently helped to unclasp. "You stay in the avaravel." He whispered and kissed her before disappearing into the night.

She listened carefully in high alert, throwing out her senses for even the most miniscule of sounds. A little fist came out of the sling seeking her hand. "You must remain quiet, da'vhenan." Absently, she offered her index finger and the little fist closed around it.

Clashing of metal on metal startled her even though she should have expected it. Debating silently with herself, she started to put her daughter down to dress but the child would not let go of her finger. Swearing softly, she pulled her robes and buttoned it up one handed. Clutching her staff, she headed out towards the sounds of battle.

_Shems!_

She stomped forward fearlessly taking in the carnage in front of her. Blood stained the emerald green grass that in the moonlight had just been a dull mossy colour. Fear gripped her heart as she noticed that the bodies on the ground were not all shem. Eyes blazing, she took in the horrific battle scene where her hunters were fighting for their lives with the intruding shemlen. They were not particularly well armoured, equipped or trained. They also looked and smelled distinctly unwashed. Bile rose unbidden. _Shemlen slavers!_

_So many of them!_ It looked to be around two dozen shemlens still in the fight, about a dozen more lay surrounding the fearsome hunters of the Antivan Dalish clan. _Not for long!_ She forcefully removed her finger from her daughter, who surprising did not protest this time, gazing slightly down, she noticed that she was sleeping peacefully despite the noise and sharp smell of blood. Carefully, she slung her daughter behind her and faced the invaders.

Calling forth the forces of nature, tree roots erupted from the ground and snared the unsuspecting shemlens. Her hunters cheered, rallied and started fighting more savagely for their lives and the lives of their loved ones. Her Bonded threw her an exasperated look before stabbing a large shemlen through the ribs.

They were about to win when she first felt it. Whispers in her blood, urging her to focus her magic on her hunters instead of the shems. Fighting futilely against the invisible bonds, she watched in horror as she released the fire ball she had been preparing onto her unsuspecting hunters. Screams filled the air even as lightning sped against the camp, greedily seeking out any brave warriors that have not succumbed to the fire.

Her Bonded gazed at her with confused but loving eyes even as he took his last breath, charred by both the fireball and lightening.

_NO!_

Her mind roared and she broke free of the bonds even as her hands started another intricate weaving of the Fade. The temperature surrounding her fell drastically in seconds, she sought and found the blood mage who had so cruelly forced her to slaughter her kin. With a slight twist of her wrist, she sent a fireball his way and moved to face the numerous frozen foes in front of her.

She did not see as much as heard the rogue behind her. However, she was too late to stop the dagger he had attempted to slide through her ribs, aiming for her heart. Twisting to at least avoid a fatal wound, she hissed as the tip sliced through her robes and slashed her stomach.

She pulled at the Fade to cast a healing spell on herself but found that her magic was not coming forth. _What is this? Why can't I draw from the Fade?_

A wicked chuckle penetrated her dazed senses. "You won't be too much of a problem now would you?" The shemlen smashed the pommel of his dagger into her face. Darkness enveloped her as she crumpled to the ground.

* * *

><p>"Woman and children should be rounded up. The pretty and young ones to one side." A deep, resonant voice heavily accented crept through her fogged senses. She struggled to regain consciousness and groped for her connection to the Fade. <em>Nothing? Why? No! I have to protect them!<em>

"What do you want to do about the twinkle fingers?" A nasal rasp questioned.

"She's pretty enough. Feed her more magebane, bind her up and we'll see if she might fetch a special price."

Hard, calloused hands pried open her mouth and some foul liquid was poured down her throat. Sputtering, she glared out of her ice blue eyes and made to spit in the face of the rank, foul breathed shem.

Seeing her intention, the shem snapped her mouth closed with a sickening crunch, causing her to inadvertently bite down on her tongue. She groaned, swallowing the poison that severed her connection to the Fade once again.

"Well now what do we have here?" She felt her sling torn from her and struggled to grasp her daughter out of the shemlen's hands. A kick to her stomach brought a gasp of pain out of her and blood started to gush out from the wound in her stomach again.

"Give her back!" Desperate, she cried out to the Creators for assistance in her time of need! _Mythal! Grant me strength keep my child safe!_

_I can help you… You just have to let me in._ A melodious voice caressed her mind even as she watched the shem part the folds of the sling, uncovering her daughter to the light.

Something disturbed the child and she blinked her brown eyes, coloured like Orlesian chocolates, up at the strange face looking down at her. Noticing that she did not have her Mamae's finger, she started protesting and cried out in earnest when the shem tightened his hold on her in distress.

"A babe? What a find! They fetch the best prices!" Despair filled the Keeper as she forced out the question. _What would it cost me?_

_Your life!_ A triumphant cry rose out of her throat as the wound in her stomach knitted close and she felt her magic spring to life once again. Without so much as a twitch, the man holding her daughter froze in place as ice splinters crept up his body.

"How…" was the only word he managed to eke out before he was encased entirely in the solid block. "Halam sahlin!" She screamed as she swung her staff at him with all the extra strength in her limbs given by the demon. He shattered into icy, bloody pieces across the field as she caught her daughter, released from his lifeless fingers.

The crying stopped almost immediately. Cradling her protectively as she observed her surroundings, she saw her daughter sniffing as if she smelled something bad before pausing to smile up at her through the corner of her eyes. A little fist insistently stretched out for her finger. "A moment da'vhenan, Mamae needs to take care of those shemlens."

She was alone with her daughter in the blood red field. Bodies littered the once emerald green meadow, transforming into a garnish garnet. She wandered frantically through all the surrounding aravels and found them empty. _Where are they? Where are my people?_

_They headed west. Just a nick of sun dial away, the fool was unsure of how much magebane to give you and waited for you to start fully regaining consciousness before he made his move._

_I need to rescue my people._

_That was not part of the bargain. I helped you save your daughter and now your life is mine._

_You can have my life but my daughter isn't safe yet and that was what I had asked for. My people will be able to take care of her after you take over me._

Snarling, the demon paused and considered this. _Very well, I will give you that. Come, let us make haste._

Holding out her finger to her daughter, she waited for her to grab hold of her finger. The moment she did, a crack appeared on her finger just above where the little one held on. A bright blue light started shining through.

_What did you do?_

_Nothing! I did nothing!_

The crack snaked up her hand and other cracks started to form on her skin.

_If you do not honour your promise, I will take your child!_

_No, I will let you have me. I did not do this!_

Her skin burnt by the bright blue flames, fell off in strips until she was consumed and no more.

The little bundle fell on top of the ashes and started crying piteously then more shrilly as no one picked her up.

_**Translations**_

da'vhenan – little heart

Emma lath – My love

Halam sahlin – This ends now


	2. From Jungle to City

_**Standard Disclaimer: Bioware owns all Dragon Age characters and in game content. I own the bits that are left.**_

**Chapter 2 – From Jungle to City**

"What is that infernal noise? Can't a girl get a chance to soak in nature peacefully?" Ines, determined to seek out the offending creature that dared come between her and her studying of the luscious plants so deep in the Antivan jungle, wandered into a blood stained meadow. She was startled to see the numerous bodies of men, women and children. Drawing her staff, she regarded the area with a snarl. "Such a waste for life. Don't suppose the perpetrators are anywhere near?" she muttered to herself as her gaze fell on a bundle teetered precariously on a pile of ashes.

The sobs were clearly coming from it. She crept closer to it, a spell at ready to shock any threat only to gape at the little infant wrapped snugly within.

Eyes the colour of those Antivan milk chocolates that Wynne loved so much peered at her the sobbing softened and Ines was absorbed into the depths of them. After seconds of intense staring from the wee bairn, the sobbing ceased and a hand stretched out of the folds of the bundle, seeming to reach out for her.

Ines shook herself out of the thrall cast by the babe, holstered her staff, stepped forward and scooped it up with any conscious thought, almost as if commanded, though by whom she had not the foggiest idea.

The little fist closed around her index finger and she found herself the recipient of a wide, toothless grin.

"What are you doing here alone, you wee bairn? The bastards who murdered your parents left you to rot? What kind of misbegotten fuck ups would leave a babe to die out here in the wild? How long have you been here? Are you hungry?" Shifting the bundle to get a better grip, she winced when her hands came away wet. "Well… Why don't we get you cleaned up first before we discuss this further?"

Glancing around, she went to the largest aravel in the camp and placed the infant on the bedroll that was haphazardly thrown aside as if someone was looking for something. Clothes, toys and rectangular cloths were strewn on the ground without a care. Rooting through the mess, Ines found several sets of clothes and cloths that looked like bottom wrappers. "Is this your home, little one? These look like they would fit you." She cast a simple ice, then fire spell to melt and heat up the resultant water into a wide bowl she had found unbroken.

Unwrapping the foul smelling cloth covering the little one's bottom, she gingerly threw it aside before setting it ablaze without a thought. She wiped the babe's bottom and covered it with a fresh cloth. The wee bairn gurgled, rewarding her with another toothless grin.

"Oh, you like being clean and fresh, don't you? I suppose the smell also left much to be desired."

Holding up the clothes she found against the babe, she surmised that the clothes were indeed hers. Upending a backpack that was lying on its side, she was stuffing all of them in when she started sniffing then hacking.

Whipping around, she discovered the cloth that she has so unwittingly burnt, had landed on some clothes she had discarded as too big for the purpose of cleaning the little one's bottom, was setting the aravel on fire!

_I am going to get in trouble for this._

Even as she thought this, she heard the clanging of armour and the crush of heavily booted feet. "Ines! Where are you? I told you to stay close, damn it!"

Cradling the babe, she hurriedly exited the burning aravel even as she heard the sound of a sword being unsheathed.

"Ines, where are you? Answer me, damn it!" The agitation could be clearly heard at the far end of the field.

"Maker! Do you really need to shout so?" She sauntered over to Greagoir and raising an eyebrow. "You seemed so tired. I only wanted you to take a much needed rest. After all, it can't be much fun traipsing around in this hot and humid jungle in that tin can of yours."

Growling in anger, Greagoir pierced her with a glare that would have cowered even the most hardened of the deck hands that were on the ship that brought them here, Ines just smirked.

"You knew that flower would put me to sleep and encouraged me to stop and smell it!"

Ines bit down on her lip to stop herself from laughing. Taking a bracing breath, she smiled innocently at the Knight-Captain. "Now how would I have known that? I am new to Antiva and her many botanical charms."

Greagoir frowned, not knowing what to believe given the innocence that seem to emanate from Ines. Gesturing to the numerous elven bodies scattered across the meadow, he lifted a questioning brow at Ines.

"You can't possibly think I had anything to do with this? You know I am wont to waste and this is just utter wastefulness. This was all here when I arrived."

Greagoir glanced at the aravel that was starting to smoke and lifted his chin in askance.

"THAT was an accident! You won't believe what a foul smell can come from a sweet little thing like her.

The babe chose this moment to raise her fist in the air as if seeking her attention.

"Yes, little one?" Ines cooed.

"What in the Maker's name have you picked up now?" Greagoir peeked at the bundle Ines was holding so protectively.

"This is a baby, Greagoir! Not some stray. She has feelings you know. What if she heard you?" Ines covered the babe's ears with her hands.

"A WHAT?" Greagoir stared disbelieving at her.

"A baby." Ines stated matter-of-factly.

"You can't be serious. You are picking up babies in the jungle? We are here to gather herbs not children!" Greagoir thundered.

The babe started fussing, clearly not accustomed to the level of noise. "Did the big, bad templar scare you? He's a big, old softie, you just see."

Unfazed, Ines levelled her amber eyes at Greagoir's steel grey ones. "So you expect me to leave this recently orphaned babe all alone in the jungle to fend for herself or be eaten by wolves or Maker knows what? It's already the Maker's mercy that she isn't breakfast for some Antivan predator."

"More likely that there is more meat to be had elsewhere." Ines looked at the bodies Greagoir had gestured towards and felt bile raising when she noticed that they had been gnawed on. Looking away quickly and suppressing the urge to regurgitate the delicious Antivan pastries she had for breakfast, she stiffened and bristled. "All the more reason we cannot leave her here."

"You know we won't be able to keep her." Greagoir sighed resignedly. "Mages are not allowed to have children. Even adopted ones."

"We can find her a good home back in Antiva City. At least she won't be eaten alive there." Ines relaxed when she realised Greagoir would not fight her on this.

"We'll see about that." He muttered as they made their way back to the city, basket only half full for once after Ines had been in an unchartered botanical area.

* * *

><p>The sun had scarcely moved in the sky when the babe started fussing again.<p>

"What does she want?" Greagoir grumbled. Irving was not going to be happy with him. The senior enchanter had entrusted Ines to him with the express request to keep her in line and not bring back any stray animals that she was so fond of collecting. A baby may not qualify as a stray but he doubted Irving would look on her with any less ire.

"I think she's hungry. I don't suppose we have any milk?" Ines asked hopefully. Knowing the answer before Greagoir shook his head. They had only brought essentials for the trip, the only luxury being the Antivan pastries Wynne had insistently packed for her so that she would not "miss out" on the "fun" of travelling.

"I don't suppose you know where we can get milk for you?" She smiled at the little one. "We seem to be all out and we probably won't reach the next village till late tonight."

The babe gurgled and raised both hands in the air. Greagoir span so quickly around, he nearly tripped on a protruding root. "Did you feel that?" he gasped.

"Yes… The small tug at the Fade. Someone very near." Ines slung the babe and unholstered her staff. Footsteps could be heard following them.

Greagoir unsheathed his sword glowering menacingly at the apostate he was sure was approaching. "Who's there?" He bellowed.

A pause, then a pure white, exquisite creature emerged from the forest, stopping directly in front of Ines, ignoring the threat Greagoir presented.

Greagoir released the breath he had not realised he was holding. "What in the Maker's name is that?"

"A halla. It doesn't seem frightened of you." Holstering her staff once again, Ines looked over at Greagoir with confused eyes even as she regarded the beautiful creature with unabashed eyes. ''May I…"

"No, you may not. We are not bringing a deer back, Ines. Irving would have a fit." Greagoir declared vehemently. "No, absolutely not!"

Ines drooped in disappointment then a sneaky look crossed her face. "Well, if we don't, the babe will just have to starve. You get to hold her while she's fussing."

"What? What? What do you mean?" Ines could not help chuckling at the incredulous look on Greagoir's face.

"The halla is heavy with milk."

* * *

><p>They made quite a sight walking into Antiva City with a halla following them. It was a strange creature who had not wandered from them even when they reached the small village late that night, three days ago. When the babe would not drink the goat's milk that they bought from a small freehold, Greagoir gave in and allowed Ines to bring it, thinking it would bolt once they reached the city.<p>

He was wrong. The creature followed them unwavering, seemingly focused on the bundle in Ines' arms. _Irving will blast my ass. No doubt about it. A halla and a baby._

As they made their way to the tavern where rooms were booked for the College of Magi, held this year in Antiva, they received wide eyed stares from the residents, some even dropping items to gawk.

_There's something unnatural about this creature._

Ines could not, for the life of her, remember ever encountering a creature that was so unfazed by crowds. Even she was slightly huddled towards Greagoir for protection against the strange people who were unabashedly staring at them.

"How much for the halla?" A deep, resonant and heavily accented voice pierced the mumbles of the crowd surrounding them.

"She's not ours to sell." Ines glared at the well-dressed Antivan man who stood blocking their path towards the tavern.

The babe made a sound of protest and raised both fists in the air. "We need her…" Ines' voice trailed off and shook as the man before her started to blaze in a bright blue flame. "Maker's breath!"

Greagoir attempted to dispel the magic but it seemed to have absolutely no effect. Grabbing a blanket off a nearby stall selling them, he beat them against the man only to have the blanket burst into similar blue flames. Ines cast an ice spell at the man but it only caused the fire to spit and crackle. Seconds later, there was nothing but ash remaining of the man.

"Andraste's flaming tits! What was that? Did you even feel the Fade being drawn?" Ines was in shock. She had never even imagined it was possible to burn a man to ashes like that. Even Rage demons left charred bodies, not bone white ashes.

"I… I didn't feel a thing." Greagoir frowned. "If this is some apostate is using this level of magic here, we will have to inform the Antivan Knight-Commander. I will go once I escort you back."

"I would rather you sent one of the younger templars. I would feel safer with you around." Blushing furiously, Ines hastily added. "Wynne too."

"Yes, Wynne. I'll send Bran then." Greagoir mused, smiling affectionately at some memory, missing the tightening of Ines' mouth.

"Yes, Miss 'my skills are only that of a healer so I didn't even educate myself with enough primal skill to light a candle' would be quite lost with protection. She can't even sustain a flame blast long enough to heat up a tea cup." Ines gritted out in an irritated tone before brushing past Greagoir, hurrying towards the tavern.


	3. Charitable Behaviour

_**Standard Disclaimer: Bioware owns all Dragon Age characters and in game content. I own the bits that are left.**_

**Chapter 3 – Charitable Behaviour**

Working her way blindly through the crowded streets, not caring if Greagoir or the halla followed, Ines bumped into a street urchin who lowered his head in apology before promptly tripping over a tree root that erupted from the cobble stoned paved street. Ines gasped, turning in a wide circle even as she cradled the babe in her arms tighter. The boy brushed himself up staring dumbfounded at the offending root and made to run off again when the root took on a life of its own and snaked up his leg.

Gasps could be heard from the crowd even as they moved away from Ines and the boy, fear etched clearly on their faces. Many muttered and pointed at the staff holstered behind Ines' back and crossed themselves fervently as if to ward off evil.

The boy, thus entangled, turned over large ochre coloured eyes at Ines, blushed, looked down and reached into his breeches. Hand trembling, he offered Ines a money bag that looked similar to hers without glancing up at her.

Ines was jolted out of her stupor and futilely searched for her money bag in her side pocket where she had stowed it. Her eyes narrowed as she snatched up her money bag from the little thief.

"Vergogna su di voi! Quali sarebbero i tuoi genitori pensa alla tua furto?" Ines took in the boy's destitute appearance and sighed. "Anche se dagli sguardi di voi, esse possono apprezza si correre il rischio."

The boy was thin with sunken cheeks made even more prominent by the proud, high cheekbones that he was blessed with. A straight, just short of hawkish nose graced lips that were now pulled tight. Straightening, the boy tucked his blond hair behind large, pointy ears and regarded Ines with a sardonic smile too cynical for someone of his youth.

"Essi sarebbero devono essere vivo per apprezzare me anche se non sono sicuro loro sarebbero cui vergognarsi di me per questo." He lifted up a brow and gestured to his trapped limb. "Dea magica. Prega di essere così gentile da rilasciarmi o hai voglia di mano su di me più le guardie in modo che possano tagliato fuori le mie mani per questo furto?"

Ines gawked at the child, for child he was, who could no more than seven years old if she were to judge from all the young apprentices she taught Herbalism to at the Circle.

"Ines! I thought I told you not to cast magic unnecessarily here. What a spectacle you are making!" Greagoir pushed through the crowd surrounding them and glared at her.

Stiffening, Ines scowled and grumbled. "What made you think it was me? It couldn't be that unknown apostate? He may have noticed the little scamper making off with my money and wanted to slow him down. If you are listening, o mysterious one, you may release the boy. I would not have him maimed when he so obviously needs his hands to work for his food."

The root slowly untwined itself from the boy's leg. Ines quickly fished out a sovereign and flipped it to him. "Usalo per mangia bene, ragazzo. Lo sguardo come avete ne hai bisogno."

The boy caught the sovereign and tucked it in some unknown place so quickly Ines was not able to make it out. With his right hand over his heart, he bowed, backing away quickly. "Io, Zevran, sono sempre in debito con voi."

Greagoir frowned. "I didn't know you spoke Antivan." He muttered as his eyes flittered over the crowd for the possible apostate. With the spectacle over, everyone looked to be busy going about their business.

"Why did you think the First Enchanter wanted me in this delegation? It's definitely not for my diplomacy." Ines retorted acerbically. "It certainly wasn't for my good looks either." She added self depreciatingly, shifting the bundle in her arms to holster her staff once again. Greagoir's eyes lit upon the bundle in Ines' arms with the motion and noticed that the babe had both arms in the air again. With a deepening frown, he laid his hand on her and felt the tiniest hint of magic emanating from her.

"You didn't cast that spell?" He demanded urgently.

"I am not so gifted in Creation spells." Ines remarked drily. "If…"

"Then it's the babe." Greagoir stated without preamble.

"What? Impossible! Magic only manifests near puberty. Some of the more gifted after six years old age. Even the very gifted only after three years. This wee bairn is not even in her first year! You know this Greagoir." Ines denied just as the multitude of coincidences flashed past her eyes. The halla, the burning man, the boy. Her eyes went round as saucers as she stared down at the babe in her arms before she smirked. "That means I get to keep her."

* * *

><p>"You not only let her bring back a halla but also a baby? Remind me why I chose to let you go with her instead of Bran?" Irving stated sarcastically, staring at the magnificent halla that they did not manage to lose and the bundle that Ines held so closely to herself grinning like a Cheshire cat.<p>

"You thought that I would be able to stop her from her habit of picking up strays." Greagoir mumbled apologetically, not quite meeting Irving's eyes.

"Yes, I can see you did a splendid job." Irving rolled his eyes.

"She's an Extreme!" Ines interjected, practically bouncing in excitement, but keeping her voice hushed. "She called out to the halla, incinerated a full grown man and trapped a boy with tree roots!"

Irving paused in his ranting, giving the herbalist his full attention. "An extreme? Are you sure? They are supposed to have died out after Andraste's Exalted March against the Tevinter Imperium." Irving whispered and tilted his head towards the tavern proper. "Why don't we discuss this inside?" He strode briskly to the door, pulled it open and gestured for them to enter. Once inside, they headed upstairs for the corner rooms that Irving had insisted on taking for privacy even though they cost a silver more each per night.

Hurriedly unlocking his door, he ushered them in before locking the door behind him. "An extreme? And you mean to keep her? How do we know if she can be taught?" Extremes were a force of nature onto themselves. Their ability to cast spells without a thought and their huge amounts of mana made them especially dangerous and targets for large numbers of demons.

"She hasn't shown any sign of demonic possession as yet. Perhaps the demons don't know what to make of one so young. I don't suppose she would acquiesce to demon possession for a bottle of milk." Greagoir quipped.

A lightning bolt flashed, lighting Greagoir's templar armour in brightness as he yelped in pain. "That wasn't very nice of you, young lady. It's positively uncanny how much she understands us, even at such a young age. Who knows what kind of danger she would post in the future?"

Irving, ever taking the opposite stance to Greagoir, commented softly. "With constant vigilance and early teaching to control her emotions, she may be able to harness this gift. Otherwise…"

"You can't mean to kill her? She's only a wee bairn." Ines cried, cradling the little one to her breasts, her agitation visible in the way her hands clutched the bundle.

The temperature of the room sank. Frost began inching up Irving's legs, reaching towards his stomach and up his arms. Startled, he cast a small flame blast melting the ice encasement and immediately cast a mage shield around himself.

"Calm down, little one, he doesn't mean to hurt you." The room immediately returned to its original temperature and Ines raised her eyes besmirching Irving. "You don't, right?"

The door knob turned and everyone froze. "Irving, are you in there? I thought I heard you speaking with Ines? Why is this door locked?"

Irving moved to unlock the door and Wynne sailed into the room, her arms laden with bags, before depositing them on the singular bed in the room and rummaging through them. "They had the most delicious chocolates and malt sweets. The children will love them. The robes were also very sexy. I bought one for you, well for me actually, but only you get to see me in it." She giggled coquettishly, holding up a very skimpy robe, that left very little to imagination, to her front and turning around.

Irving groaned as Greagoir flushed heatedly and Wynne dropped the robes in astonishment. "Irving! Why didn't you inform me you had visitors other than Ines?" Wynne intoned formally, picking up the robe, folded it quickly and deposited it into a bag.

"You didn't give him a chance and do you really need another robe?" Ines shook her head ruefully at the Creation mage. "Too many sweets and the children have to take the stomach cure with the foul taste that I still have not perfected to taste good."

Wynne sighed. "I don't know why you bother making potions when a simple healing spell would cure anything they may have. Oh wait… I remember why… You can't heal a paper cut."

"Ha ha ha… At least I don't have to trouble the servants to bring hot water up those ridiculously long stairs for a bath." Wynne huffed indignantly and was about to make a rejoinder when a happy warble rose from the bundle in Ines' arms.

"What is that? Did you pick up something you shouldn't again?" Wynne sneered. "Asking Irving for his permission to keep a new pet?"

Ines bristled. "It is not a pet but, yes, Irving needs to decide if we may bring her back with us. That was what he was deciding before you interrupted us."

Nodding, Irving pondered on the question, frowning thoughtfully, before he replied. "You can't keep calling her little one if she is to be with us. No one must know that she is an Extreme. I doubt the Antivan Circle of Magi would be happy to release such a find to us."

"Her name is Neria…" Ines stated softly as Neria gurgled happily at her. "Neria Surana." Ines intoned, smiling down at the babe. "She will be my apprentice."

Wynne gasped, crossing the room to hover over the little bundle. "Oh, isn't she precious? Why are we bringing her back? Why Neria? I like Maybelline better."

"Just drew that off the top of your head, did you?" Greagoir grinned at Ines. "Nothing to do with the Elvish embroidered on her clothes?"

"I'll have you know that the clothes only have Neria embroidered on them. Surana is my contribution. It means making a pleasing sound." Ines softly caressed Neria's cheek and added. "I hope you will be happy with us, dear one."

"I still think Neria is a stupid name." Wynne scoffed. "If you want the name to start with N, how about Natalie?"

A fist thrust out of the bundle before lighting up in a blue flame. Ines smiled and stated softly "Neria means burning light of Sylaise."

"Well, thank you for that demonstration, Neria. However, I need you to keep as quiet as possible and no fancy light show till after we're well underway out of Antiva. I want to keep this as quiet as possible and not have Alfonso suspecting we are stealing her right under his nose." Irving considered his options before turning to Greagoir. "Tell Captain Cedric we will not be extending our stay after all and ask if the tide is still good for leaving tomorrow morning. We need to leave as soon as possible or Neria's use of magic will be more noticeable with more mages leaving for their respective countries."

Greagoir nodded and rushed out to brief his men and intercept the ship's crew before they could leave for activities that would take them off the ship for the night.

"Wynne, I suggest you pack up if you don't want to leave any of the stuff you bought here." Irving stated shortly before nodding to Ines and leaving to inform the tavern keeper of their departure.

Wynne sighed and glared at Ines. "Now look what you have done. Couldn't you leave her well alone? Why did you have to pick her up anyway?"

"Yes, because that would be such a charitable thing to do. To leave a little baby out in the wilds to take care of herself." Ines frostily retorted before lugging the basket of herbs behind her. "Now if you'll excuse me, I have precious herbs to catalogue and pack before we leave."

"I didn't mean it that way and you know it." Wynne shouted at her back.

Turning around, Ines looked deeply into her eyes and asked clearly. "Didn't you?"

* * *

><p><em><strong>Translations<strong>_

Vergogna su di voi! Quali sarebbero i tuoi genitori pensa alla tua furto? – Shame on you! What would your parents think of your theft?

Anche se dagli sguardi di voi, esse possono apprezza si correre il rischio. – Although from the looks of you, they may appreciate you taking the risk.

Essi sarebbero devono essere vivo per apprezzare me anche se non sono sicuro loro sarebbero cui vergognarsi di me per questo. – They would have to be alive to appreciate me even though I'm not sure they would be ashamed of me for this.

Dea magica. Prega di essere così gentile da rilasciarmi o hai voglia di mano su di me più le guardie in modo che possano tagliato fuori le mie mani per questo furto? – Goddess of magic. Please be kind enough to release me or did you want to hand me over to the guards so they can cut off my hands for this theft?

Usalo per mangia bene, ragazzo. Lo sguardo come avete ne hai bisogno. – Use it to eat well, boy. You look like you need it.

Io, Zevran, sono sempre in debito con voi. – I, Zevran, am forever in your debt.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Author's Notes:<strong>_

_I don't speak Antivan (Italian) so please pardon me if the words or translations are wrong. I would also appreciate any reviews (either good or bad would not matter but please be constructive). Thanks in advance. _


	4. Wind of Change

_**Standard Disclaimer: Bioware owns all Dragon Age characters and in game content. I own the bits that are left.**_

**Chapter 4 – Wind of Change**

The next day, three hours before even dawn's first hour, Greagoir roused everyone as per Irving's instructions. Cedric, the Captain of the ship with the uninspired name of The Ferelden II, had sternly informed Greagoir that if they missed the first hour of dawn when the tide would be sufficient to set sail, they would not be able to leave for another week. Thus it was that Irving gave Greagoir the unenviable task of getting everyone up and ready to go.

The templars had no trouble rousing as they were used to early morning prayers. Irving and Ines took only a knock on their respective doors to awaken and acknowledge his call. Wynne, however, did not respond at all to his insistent knocking. There was not even a murmur of response when he eventually smacked his gauntlet on the thin wooden door in frustration.

Ines, fresh from her quick bath, closed the door of her room quietly while adjusting the bundle in her arms. She was laden down with her backpack, Neria and the basket of herbs that were now tied in little bundles of which use were only comprehensible to her. Her distinct scent of lemon and mint wafted gently down the corridor as she approached the irritated templar and chuckled.

"Good morning, Greagoir. I see you are having trouble waking up Miss 'Creation spells takes more control than Primal ones'. You would think with so much self-control, she would be able to wake up on time."

Greagoir sighed. "It's a little early for you to be griping. Either help or be on your way. Irving is downstairs seeing to last minute preparations with the ship's crew."

"Last minute preparations, my arse. Miss 'I just bought a few items' bullied him into obtaining crates for all her purchases and now he has to wake up the crew in the middle of the night to transport all of those boxes to The Ferelden II. It's a wonder Cedric didn't put his foot down. Then again, maybe Wynne just simpered at him like she always does when she wants to get her way with men." Ines muttered crossly as her good mood for the morning evaporated at Greagoir's irate tone. _Damn that Creation bitch!_

"Why don't you just break in?" she suggested not too kindly.

"What if she is undressed or in the middle of her morning preparations?" Greagoir flushed.

Exasperated, Ines retorted. "You do the breaking in and I'll do the actual going in. How's that? You don't want Irving breathing down your neck again so early in the morning."

Nodding his agreement, Greagoir braced himself and bashed his shoulder into the paper thin door. It gave way immediately. "You will take care of her, won't you?" He asked, turning away before hearing Ines' answer. "I need to check that all my men are ready to go. We don't want to leave anything here that we may need on the trip back."

"Oh… Don't you worry. I'll take _good_ care of her." Ines grinned to herself as she treaded softly into Wynne's room. Wynne was lying on her stomach, her face turned towards the door on a pillow with her blond hair spread in disarray all around. Ines had never understood Wynne's penchant for long hair. Then again, maybe she never had to go through beating out flames from her hair. Ines had. Several times during her apprenticeship and sometimes, even now, after she imbibed enough wine. _That is neither here nor there. I have to wake her now._

"Wynne, wake up." Ines shook her fellow enchanter. _Well. Not exactly fellow, she is five years older than me. Although she would kill me before she allows that to be known._ "Wake up!"

Muttering, Wynne just slapped her hands away, turned and continued sleeping. Looking down at Neria, she sighed and questioned. "I don't suppose you have any bright ideas on how to wake the lazy bones up?"

Suddenly, the temperature of the room lowered dramatically. A light frost began to hover over Wynne, solidifying into an ice block. Immediately, blue flames engulfed the ice block and the melted water drenched the sleeping mage. Before Wynne could even sputter in outrage, a small lightning bolt flashed and touched the wet bed sheets. Wynne literally jolted awake, the tips of her hair looking slightly singed. "Ines! What did you do?" she screamed.

Holding her sides, as she doubled over in laughter, Ines helplessly sought to explain herself but each time she looked up and took in Wynne's singed hair, she collapsed again. Tears started rolling down her face as she finally straightened, steadying herself against the side table.

"So glad to see that you ladies are enjoying yourself in this early morning." A caustic tone floated through the door. "But we really should be going if we wish to leave this morning." Irving leaned on the door frame raising an eye brow at Wynne's dishevelled appearance and sighed. "Wynne, that means you."

"Irving! She dumped water on me and then shocked me!" Wynne spluttered indignantly. "Of all the uncultured, ill mannered, in bred… ARGH!" Her ranting broke off when a little fist rose out of the bundle and a lightning bolt shot up her arse.

"Now you stop that this instance, young lady." Ines stifled her laughter and mock chastised Neria. "You don't want her to have an excuse to be later then she already is."

Blinking furiously, Wynne rose as dignifiedly as she could from the bed only to trip on a puddle of water that had pooled at the foot of the bed.

Groaning piteously, she shot Ines a furious glare but wisely held her peace. Ines chuckled all the way out of the door, down the corridor and down the stairs.

Irving hid his laughter as best he could behind a long hacking cough. It was not enough.

"Want me to look at that cough for you?" Wynne uttered testily.

"No, no, it's fine. I'll just take one of Ines' potions later." Irving hurriedly followed Ines downstairs but had to give in to his laughter halfway down the corridor.

* * *

><p>By some miracle, they were all ready to go and there was still time left for a quick breakfast. Irving blessed the Maker for the small mercy and was immediately proven wrong when Bran hurried in from the stables where he had been tasked to secure the halla for transportation on to the ship.<p>

"Alfonso is here!" Irving groaned. He could not fathom any reason for the First Enchanter of the Antivan Circle of Magi to come this early in the morning for a visit but he would not give the Antivan any ammunition. "Greagoir, take Wynne and Neria on to the ship through the back door now!"

"Why me? Why can't Ines go?" Wynne protested even as Ines carefully laid Neria in her arms. "Oof! She's so heavy! Ow!"

A lightning bolt appeared out of nowhere and shot up Wynne's arse again.

_That would never get old._ Ines chuckled to herself and pushed Wynne out the door. "I'm not the one prone to sea sickness and Irving will probably use that as an excuse to justify your absence. Neria, please, no more magic until we're well under way. These people can differentiate magic like wine connoisseurs can differentiate wines. Now go, for Maker's sake! You really should lie down before the ship sails, Wynne. I don't fancy being downwind of you otherwise."

Alfonso strutted into the tavern just as Ines slammed the back door in Wynne's face. Turning around, she schooled her features into a courteous smile though chuckles quickly smothered by coughing could be heard from the templars who had not accompanied them to the College. He was dressed in the most flamboyant of robes, the red velvet chased with gold and silver embroidery alone would have screamed opulent. Some clueless tailor had to add on emeralds as buttons and small peacock feathers that fanned out from the sides of his gloves and knee high boots. A large egg sized emerald embedded into a golden belt buckle completed the picture of decadence.

The first time that the Ferelden delegation had met him, only Wynne failed to see the absurdness of his dressing and enthused in praises over it. Irving, Greagoir, Hadley and Bran had been stunned speechless by the ensemble while Ines rolled her eyes and almost offered to set the tailor on fire for him.

Only with great restrain did she manage to compose her features into unaffected politeness after she was told that it had been made specifically to Alfonso's design for the College of Magi this year and he had been greatly pleased with the results.

_The gold, silver and emeralds on the robes could probably feed that little scamp, Zevran, wasn't it, for years. Damn the waste!_ The thought caused Ines' right eye to twitch uncomfortably as she fought not to frown.

By contrast, the templar accompanying him, Edoardo, if Ines recalled correctly, just wore his weathered plate armour, so synonymous with the templar order. Although worn with age, anyone could see the great care taken to keep it dent and rust free. It was shined so well that it could have been used as a mirror. _Now that is efficient use of resources._ Ines commended on the templar's thriftiness internally.

"Buon giorno! Pensavo che tutti voi state andando a soggiornare per una settimana più per visitare la nostra bella città. Che cosa è questo che sento di te lasciando all'alba di oggi?" Alfonso looked at Ines patiently, waiting for her to translate his greeting.

"He wants to know why we are leaving today when we had mentioned we would only be leaving in a week." Ines loosely translated, stifling a yawn as her stomach struggled to digest the breakfast she had taken. Given the early hour, perhaps it had not been her best idea to eat her usual ham and eggs with toasted bread, washed down with milk and the heavenly orange juice only found in Antiva. However, she would be damned if she did not eat and drink well at her last meal in Antiva. Maker knows when and what they would have to eat on the ship?

"Tell him that matters concerning the Ferelden Circle of Magi have come up and we are needed back post-haste." Irving offered a polite smile to Alfonso. "Let's hope, he buys that."

"Ci scusiamo ma materie riguardanti il nostro cerchio sono sorte e abbiamo bisogno di lasciare immediatamente" Ines stated with a polite smile.

"Ah! Allora sapete di cosa è successo a Primo Enchanter Remille. Non pensavo che la notizia sarebbe arrivare così in fretta. Avete ottenuto una nota da un uccello?" He raised an eyebrow at Ines, motioning for her to translate his question.

"Se non si aspettano da noi saperlo così presto, come hai fatto venire in avere queste informazioni?" Ines narrowed her eyes at the Antivan suspiciously.

"Buona donna, si dimentica. La bella città di Antiva ha uccelli nero abbondante, di cui io stesso ho una cella. Essi sono molto bravi a in grado di raccogliere nessuna informazione." Alfonso smiled chillingly. "Essi sono essenziali come l'aria per noi. Saremmo perduti senza di loro."

"Cornacchie?" Ines asked curiously, having always heard about the infamous Antivan Crows but had not noticed any in her time here.

"Sì, mia buona signora." Alfonso answered smoothly. Irving looked fit to burst in curiosity on their exchange, stopping short of interrupting at the slight shake of Ines' head and her icy glare.

"Allora si dovrebbe essere ben consapevoli che non possiamo ritardare la nostra partenza più a ed era inutile venire qui a domanda ci su di esso." Ines retorted acerbically. "Addio, può il Maker di mantenere voi bene salute."

Ines turned resolutely towards the door and gestured for the others to follow her. "Per favore aiutatemi congratularmi con Irving e Greagoir sulla loro promozioni." Alfonso hollered just before she turned the corner.

Setting a brisk pace for the docks, she had barely counted to three before Irving caught up with her and seized her by the wrist. "What happened in there? Why did he mention First Enchanter Remille? Why are you hurrying?"

"Don't we have to sail out by first light?" Pointing to the horizon, she pulled him along. "We will barely make it as it is even if we hurry. Come, pick up your paces men. Halla, please follow quickly for Neria's sake." Softly, she added. "I'll let you know when we are on board. It wouldn't do to look too surprised. Alfonso had spies all around."

"Spies? Aren't you being a little paranoid?" Irving gazed at her in askance, though he picked up his pace to match hers.

The group raced to the docks at near breakneck speed, reaching about half an hour before dawn's first light. The crew was astounded by the calmness radiating from the halla, which did not make any fuss at all, gracefully following Ines up the gangplank. Cedric eyed the halla sceptically before sighing unenthusiastically after Ines' icy stare. He wondered sometimes how eyes with such a warm colour could look so cold.

Cedric heaved a great sigh of relief after all passengers were safely on board and ordered his crew to cast off immediately. The crew busied themselves readying the vessel to meet the first tide while deck hands stowed away any remaining cargo in the way. Wynne who had been standing on the port side, looking out at the sea, was already starting to look a little green. "Here, take her, while I go have a lie in." Thrusting Neria into her arms, she swept away without any care of whether Ines had a firm grip of the baby.

Ines carefully cradled Neria while she watched the crew set the riggings and the sails fill up just enough to get them moving. Walking towards the ship's captain who was still busy barking orders at his crew, Ines asked quietly "I hope you did not take on any new Antivan crew?"

Choking back a laugh, Cedric turned to face her but his amusement died faced with her seriousness. "Maker, no. They can't fight to save their lives except for those Crows they are so proud of. I'm not letting any assassin on my ship."

"Good." Ines smiled her first genuine smile since stepping out of the tavern this morning and waved Greagoir and Irving over. "We need to talk. Let's go down to my cabin. Wynne needs to hear this too."

Rolling on the balls of her feet to keep her balance, Ines hurriedly vaulted down the stairway and nearly ran to her cabin. Wynne had laid down with her back to the door. Turning, she muttered queasily, "I need to rest, if you need to have a discussion, please take it somewhere else."

Ines placed Neria on her bed and moved to where her pack rested on the floor. Rummaging through it, she drew out a small potion bottle filled with a thick, dark brown liquid. "Here, drink this. You will feel better in no time." Ines tossed the bottle to Wynne.

"Oof…" It crashed into Wynne's nose. A small trace of blood trailed down her philtrum. "You did that on purpose!"

"Oh shut up and drink the potion. I have important news." Ines declared resolutely, her tone brooking no arguments.

Wynne flinched at her tone and obediently quaffed the potion. Her face immediately turned red and she wheezed, running to the table to pour herself a cup of water and downed it in one big swallow.

"Too much ginger? I guess I'll have to work out the proportions more accurately next time." Ines mused while smirking at Wynne's antics. Wynne could not speak but pointed a trembling finger at Ines in warning. "Well, at least you don't look so green around the gills anymore." Turning to Irving and Greagoir, she smiled a sardonic smile and intoned formally. "Congratulations on making First Enchanter and Knight-Commander."

Stunned silence followed her announcement. The crash of a potion bottle from Wynne's slack fingers roused the men.

"Was that what Alfonso…" Irving began.

"What in the Maker's name are you…" Greagoir roared.

"What about Remille…" Wynne asked piteously. The world was literally turned on its side for her. The Chantry frowned on marriage between mages. Unless both parties were content to stay within the Circle for the rest of their lives, the Chantry did not sanction marriages with mages. Irving and Wynne had been in love and had wanted to marry even if it meant spending the rest of their lives within the Circle. It would not have been difficult if they could be together. However, the First Enchanters were not allowed marriage as it was deemed to skew their ability to be objective. So now that option is closed to them.

"If what I deduce from Alfonso's 'greeting' to us this morning is correct, First Enchanter Remille should be dead and so is Knight-Commander Conand. When I mentioned that we had urgent business to attend to in Ferelden, he immediately assumed that we knew there was trouble at the Circle. I did not disabuse him of this misconception. We will need to hurry back. If First Enchanter Remille is dead, Irving will be the logical choice for First Enchanter and if Knight-Commander Conand is dead, then Greagoir would be the first choice to replace him." Ines stated in a flat tone. She could not, no would not, meet Greagoir's eyes. Knight-Commanders were required to take a vow of celibacy if they had not taken them before. This removed them from temptations according to Chantry hyperbole. Ines refused to consider what this meant for Greagoir and her. "We will have to prepare for the worst that could happen when we arrive back at the Kinloch Hold."

"There has to be some other way." Wynne wailed despairingly.

"We can hope that they are not dead." Ines stated as calmly as she could even as she wanted to give in to despair like Wynne had. Smiling drily, she propounded "Maybe the Crows were wrong this time and we would all have been worried for nothing."

* * *

><p><em><strong>Translations<strong>_

Buon giorno! Pensavo che tutti voi state andando a soggiornare per una settimana più per visitare la nostra bella città. Che cosa è questo che sento di te lasciando all'alba di oggi? – Good morning! I thought all of you were going to stay for a week more to tour our fair city. What is this I hear of you leaving at dawn today?

Ci scusiamo ma materie riguardanti il nostro cerchio sono sorte e abbiamo bisogno di lasciare immediatamente. – We apologize but matters relating to our circle have arisen and we need to leave immediately.

Ah! Allora sapete di cosa è successo a Primo Enchanter Remille. Non pensavo che la notizia sarebbe arrivare così in fretta. Avete ottenuto una nota da un uccello? – Ah! Then you know what happened to First Enchanter Remille. I did not think the news would come so quickly. You got a note from a bird?

Se non si aspettano da noi saperlo così presto, come hai fatto venire in avere queste informazioni? – If you do not expect us to know so early, how did you come to have this information?

Buona donna, si dimentica. La bella città di Antiva ha uccelli nero abbondante, di cui io stesso ho una cella. Essi sono molto bravi a in grado di raccogliere nessuna informazione. – Good lady, you forget. The beautiful city of Antiva has plenty of black birds, of which I myself have a cell. They are very good at gathering any information.

Essi sono essenziali come l'aria per noi. Saremmo perduti senza di loro. – They are essential as the air for us. We'd be lost without them.

Cornacchie – Crows

Sì, mia buona signora. – Yes, my good lady.

Allora si dovrebbe essere ben consapevoli che non possiamo ritardare la nostra partenza più a ed era inutile venire qui a domanda ci su di esso. – Then you should be aware that we cannot further delay our departure and it was useless to come here to question us about it.

Addio, può il Maker di mantenere voi bene salute. – Farewell, may the Maker keep you in good health.

Per favore aiutatemi congratularmi con Irving e Greagoir sulla loro promozioni. – Please help me congratulate Irving and Greagoir on their promotions.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Author's Notes<strong>_

_I don't speak Antivan (Italian) so please pardon me if the words or translations are wrong._

_I would like to thank all the silent readers of this story. A special shout out to pwny5153 and Sandrial Tsubasa for adding my story to your favourites and Nocterayne for putting me on your alert._

_I would also appreciate any reviews (either good or bad would not matter but please be constructive). Thanks in advance._


	5. Leaving the Nest

_**Standard Disclaimer: Bioware owns all Dragon Age characters and in game content. I own the bits that are left.**_

**Chapter 5 – Leaving the Nest**

_The Previous Day in Antiva_

Frediano observed the young child who flitted lithely, weaving in, out, over and under obstacles without a pause. It was remarkable for one so young to be this agile. There were children his age who would not have been this surefooted on flat ground never mind the roof tops of the poorer district in Antiva City that were chock-full with obstacles like laundry, plants, rain barrels and different types of discarded furniture. The boy navigated through the maze of hurdles with expertise bordering on paranormal ability.

He had been on his way back from the slave market seeking possible recruits. The pickings were slim with most of the good ones already sold to older and more powerful Guild Masters. If he wanted to build up his cell, he had contemplated, he would have to look elsewhere. Perhaps the slums would have parents willing to sell their children to him.

It was fortuitous for him that he had come upon the spectacle that was the foreign mage trapping a young scamp. Taking in the situation, he had been curious when the boy did not cringe in fear and wondered if it was from bravado or pure foolishness. Remaining to observe the scene and listening to his conversation with the mage, Frediano realised the boy knew the consequences of his actions only too well but had not cowered and remained fearless while speaking with his captor. He was first impressed by his tenacity. Most slaves were too broken to ever make it through the Crow training. A Master was sometimes forced to purchase two dozen or more to ensure that at least one or two made it. Frediano's cell was still too young and lacked the resources to make such volumes of purchases. His excitement had escalated after seeing the practised style with which the boy caught the sovereign and kept it. Consequently, he found himself following stealthily behind the boy after he had made his escape from the debacle.

He watched silently, chuckling when the boy threw himself off the roof, dropping ten feet to the ground, rolling and folding onto himself before standing up with a flourish, bowing left and right as if to some appreciative audience. As the boy grinned to himself and ran towards a famous brothel that served the middle and lower class citizens of the city, Frediano dropped silently into a dark alley and followed.

The Moaning Marta was owned by Marta, who Frediano knew to be an enterprising woman. She picked up attractive people with no means to fend for themselves and who were not adverse to the body trade. She offered them food, board and protection for their willingness to sell their bodies. The men and women took a small cut of their earnings and could leave any time they wished to. Marta had often enthused that willing whores were the best whores. Her customers certainly agreed. She also did not allow any customers, however full their purse was, to abuse her staff if they did not enjoy it.

Frediano wondered if the boy was the son of a whore and how much it would cost to purchase him. His lips thinned as the thought that the boy's parent may be adverse to the thought of releasing him to Crow training. An evil glint ignited in his eyes as he resolved to remove any such hindrance the Crow way.

* * *

><p>Marta tapped her foot impatiently waiting for her adoptee to return. He was late and she was worried, wondering what mischief he had been up to. She, however, would never have let him know the affection she had for him. He was way too cocky for his own good, confident of his own cunning, wit, quicksilver tongue and good looks. He was a clever boy, deeply perceptive and highly empathic. He absorbed information like a sponge and could already swear colourfully in all the seven languages found in Thedas. Sometimes she swore that he saw too much for someone so young and the cynicism in him had grown to match.<p>

Besides this, he was such a handsome boy, almost too handsome for his own good and she worried about him living in the Moaning Marta indefinitely. There had already been offers from some of her more perverse customers to purchase his _entertainment_ for the evening. Not for all the jewels in Antiva City would she sell anyone else's body for profit without consent. Anything done in the Moaning Marta is consensual and it would stay that way until they laid her to rest under six feet of dirt.

However, she would have to ask him soon. The other occupants were starting to question his presence without a sponsor. The other children lived on the little stipends their fathers or mothers earned here but Zevran had no one to sponsor his care and the others were starting to question this. Although she paid for his portion of board, he did not have to clean the rooms like the other children, simply because he did not have a parent who was alive to require such services of him.

Marta wondered whether he would be willing to trade his body in exchange for money or if she should find another trade in which he would excel. She sighed remembering his mother. The proud Dalish had made her promise as she laid dying after childbirth not to push him into it.

_Give him a chance to make something of himself._ She had moaned in her dying throes.

She closed her eyes and took in a steadying breath. Even if she did not do so for his mother, she would have for his father. Marta sighed at the thought of the woodcutter elf who provided the brothel with all its wood in the past. He was a strong yet gentle and warm man, ever ready with a smile. She had been infatuated with his good looks and so were half the ladies in the brothel. When he returned with a Dalish elf for a wife, they had all been secretly devastated but none more so than Marta.

She had wanted to hate her but could not. Their love was almost palpable to everyone who saw them and too sweet to hate. When he had fallen ill, the proud woman had fallen on her knees to beg Marta for money to seek cures for him and Marta could not refuse her. Despite their best efforts, he had wasted away and died. She had been so distraught she would have followed him to the Fade if not for the discovery of his baby, Zevran, in her.

Once the pregnancy was stable, she had agreed to Marta's suggestion to stay and ply her trade to repay her debts. She did not force her into it, had even provided her with the means to return to her clan. However, the woman was too proud to accept it and wanted to work off her debts and still have something to provide for her growing child's future.

Marta had provided her with the best of the customers, gentle souls who only sought to talk to a listening ear or who wished to release some tension with massage and oils. She did not disabuse the other occupants of her status as a whore for fear of being accused of favouritism. However, when she had started showing, it was all she could do to keep the others from muttering at her still working. They had thought her a brute for forcing a pregnant woman to work the body trade. If only they knew, but they would never know as Marta would not allow any word in her defence. It did not farce Marta to be known as a hard-nosed bitch. If anything, it made her job easier when dealing with difficult customers or impetuous staff.

_Where is he? The boy can't afford to miss another meal no matter what the other occupants were saying about him._

The other occupants had started muttering around him, snide remarks about him being a layabout or a skiver. Many were not quelled by Marta's stern glares and had continued picking on him in her absence. She was not omnipresent and if she was to give him a chance at a better life, she had to think of something fast.

Zevran skidded to a stop in front of Marta with an impish smile. Out of nowhere, he produced a sovereign and Marta's heart sank. Turning red with anger, she moved to box his ears for the thievery but he dodged her easily. His grin vanished in the face of her anger and he leaped two steps backwards, holding up his hands in surrender.

"Marta, I did not steal this. I swear! A foreign lady gave this to me." Zevran placated.

"Oh? I suppose she had plenty of sovereigns to spare to give one to you." Marta retorted sarcastically.

"From the weight of her money bag, it would seem so." Zevran uttered disarmingly. "But of course I wasn't anywhere near it to know that." He hastily added when he realised his slip.

Marta rolled her eyes at him. "Right… Get in there and have your dinner you little scamp. Keep that sovereign where no one can see it."

"I was hoping you would take it as your cut." Zevran remarked, gaze lowering to the ground. "I know the others are giving you trouble about me not bringing in even a bit to the communal funds."

Marta sighed. He was much too young to worry about things like these. She needed to get him away from this life as quickly as possible. "I will take this and return your fifty percent cut then." Palming the sovereign and biting it out of habit. It was real and Ferelden if she was not mistaken. "This should tide you over for two weeks. Don't go stealing again. I don't want to have to answer for your lack of hands to your parents in the Fade when I eventually get there."

Zevran hugged her. "You are too young for that and I'll never get caught."

Marta stiffened, scoffed, checked to make sure no one was looking and hugged him back briefly before shoving him away to walk into the brothel. "So… You going to tell me the truth of how you got this?"

"Is it so hard to believe that a lady found me so handsome that she was willing to give this to me?" Zevran teased.

Blood froze in Marta's veins. She span around so quickly, it was amazing she kept her balance. Inspecting Zevran with a professional eye before running her hands up and down his body, she questioned urgently. "Did she touch you in any inappropriate way?"

"Well, she did have me in quite a bind. She caught me with a tree root and it held quite firmly onto my leg." Zevran replied seriously, sensing the panic Marta was in.

"A mage then? What did you do that she would retaliate in such a way in board daylight with so many people in the market place?" Marta's hands paused and withdrew when she realised he was unharmed.

"I… Err… I stole her money bag." He stuttered quickly and dashed under her skirts, through the open door into the brothel.

"ZEVRAN!" Marta's shriek shook the rafters of the brothel but the little rascal had already escaped through the back door with a loaf of bread. Shaking her head and chuckling affectionately to herself, Marta vowed to find something else for him to be. She would not allow the child to become a thief or his mother would rise from her grave to haunt her.

"Pardon me." A cultured voice stated behind her where just moments before she could have sworn there was no one. Startled, Marta turned around to find a well-dressed man standing behind her. His stance was that a rogue though he hid it well behind fine clothes.

Marta feigned a smile and nudged him mock playfully. "Ser, we are not open yet. Give the ladies or gentlemen some time to freshen up for the day, no?"

"I'm here about the boy." The man gritted out, firmly brushing himself off where she had touched him.

Marta's eyes narrowed to slits and she icily declared. "He is too young for you, Ser. If your tastes run that way, I have a few better, more experienced boys who would be able to service you better."

"He is just the right age for me and I would like to take him off your hands. No doubt you would be glad to be rid of him? I will offer you a sovereign for him." Frediano took out the sovereign and offered it to Marta.

Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed Zevran crouched on the second floor balcony listening in to their conversation. She clamped down on the urge to smack the pervert in front of her and queried frostily. "And what do you want from him?"

"Have you heard of the Antivan Crows?" Frediano countered, realising that the woman had misunderstood his intentions, not that he did not have such inclinations but perhaps now was not the time to reveal this. He twiddled a sovereign over his fingers. "I would like to train him as one."

Marta's heart soared. This must be the Maker's grace. A chance for the boy to be one of the infamous Antivan Crows! They were a law to themselves in Antiva and feared elsewhere in Thedas, often travelling to other places in Thedas to accomplish their contracts. Assassination was surely a better profession than prostitution or petty thievery. She heard the Crows educated their children in everything. The arts, languages, literature, everything Marta would not be able to offer Zevran who surely would excel in this given his roguish tendencies.

"Ten sovereigns." It would not do to appear too eager, the man may think there was something wrong with the boy and she wanted to get rid of him.

"What? Do you wish to bankrupt me? Two sovereigns are all I can offer!" Frediano fished out another sovereign and offered it to her. He mentally tabulated his expenses and knew he could afford little more.

Marta raised her eyebrows in mock outrage. "Do you think I raised the child to give him away? Seven sovereigns."

Frediano spluttered. "I could buy seven slaves for that price! Three and that is my last offer." Perhaps if he cut some corners here and there, he may be able to afford this ridiculous price. Otherwise, he would just have to come back to remove the boy from her forcefully.

Marta smiled exultantly, not having expected more than two sovereigns in the first place. "Ah… But none of them are the same quality as my Zevran, no? Five sovereigns and afternoons off for him to visit me."

"Emotional entanglements will only hinder his training." Frediano protested. He would have to condition the boy to leave this woman behind.

"It is a sad, sad day with one does not have anyone to return to after a hard day's of work. So do we have a deal?" Marta asked, smiling as she watched the man squirm.

"Three sovereigns and one day off each week. I cannot guarantee that he would visit with you." Frediano gritted out.

"Deal! I'll have the boy ready for you tomorrow." Marta held out her hand for the sovereigns.

"Why tomorrow?" Frediano complained as he fished out another sovereign for the brothel owner. It was easier to comply then have to return to remove the boy with violence.

"I am taking his day off first, of course." Marta chuckled triumphantly before slamming the door in his face.

* * *

><p>Zevran angrily threw his meagre belongings onto a large scarf. He would leave! He would not allow himself to be sold. And for what? Three sovereigns? He just made one sovereign this morning. Of course, that had been out of the goodness of the foreign mage. Or was it pity? He did not know the difference and did not care to find out. He simply would not be sold like some chattel. Unbidden tears flowed down his cheeks, furiously swiping them away, he tied up the scarf into a little bundle, heaved it behind his shoulder and prepared to exit through the window.<p>

"Zevran… Where do you think you are going?" Marta's plaintive voice stopped him in his tracks. The woman whom he had regarded as a mother for all his life had just callously sold him for three sovereigns. What did she have to sound so sad about! Mopping his face with his palm, he schooled his features into a tight, blank mask before turning to face her.

"I'm leaving. I am not your property to be sold. Mother left you money to take care of me. I am not a… your… slave to sell!" His voice rose at the end despite his efforts to appear uncaring.

Marta took one look at his reddened eyes, sighed, closed and locked the door behind her. "Where would you go? What would you become?" She moved forward to envelope the boy in a hug. This child who had been like a son to her since his mother's death. He resisted, stubbornly remaining stiff but did not withdraw from her. "My little darling, I promised your mother that I would give you a chance to be the best that you can be. Staying here you would have to become a whore, my guard or a street rat eventually. Now you get the chance to be one of the infamous Antivan Crows, educated in all the fine arts, languages, literature and skills of an assassin. Able to take contracts that would allow you to travel all over Thedas. This is an opportunity you will never get elsewhere."

Zevran's arms slowly curled around her. "You are not selling me because you don't want me?" He asked in a small, trembling voice.

"Don't you know that you have become my heart? How could I live without you? But this would be the best life for you outside of these walls. I would have fulfilled my promise to your mother and the others would think me a cold hearted bitch to sell you away and be more willing to listen to me, no?" She smiled disparagingly, pulled back and kissed the top of his head. "Come, none of these tears. Let us go get you a proper backpack and clothes from your cut of the money you gave me. I want to send you off in style."

Nodding, Zevran looked up adoringly at Marta, hugged her close and admitted. "You have always been a mother to me. I'm sorry I doubted you."

Marta's heart tightened at the little boy's confession and prayed to the Maker he would survive the rumoured tortures she had not allowed herself to dwell on.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Author's Notes<strong>_

_I would like to thank all the silent readers of this story. A special shout out to Nocterayne for adding my story to your favourites and for pwny5153 and FeZeTh13 for your encouraging reviews. I hope you will continue to join me on this story with Neria and Zevran. They will tell me where they want the story to go._

_I would also appreciate any other reviews (either good or bad would not matter but please be constructive). Thanks in advance. _


	6. The Mage and Her Templar

_**Standard Disclaimer: Bioware owns all Dragon Age characters and in game content. I own the bits that are left.**_

_**Author's Note: **This is one of those chapters that earn this story its M rating. Consider yourself warned._

**Chapter 6 – The Mage and Her Templar**

The Ferelden II was in no way a very small ship with main, fore and mizzen masts but it was not so huge that a person could not be found after a week of sailing. For the past week, Greagoir had been waiting to catch Ines alone to speak with her. However, she always was busy with Neria, speaking with Irving, Wynne, Cedric or anyone else but him or simply not on deck. He would have thought that she was hiding from him if the thought that plucky Ines hiding from anything did not seem so absurd. Frustrated at the lack of progress in finding her alone, he closed his eyes and sought to rest, his thoughts still actively swirling around her.

* * *

><p>When Remille had proposed Ines' promotion at a tender age of twenty three, no one had opposed due to her length of stay and many contributions to the Circle. She had been brought in at a tender age of three and had taken to the Circle like a fish to water, studiously working her way through classes, making friends and attending Chantry sessions.<p>

They never had any trouble from her. She never missed curfew, never flouted any of the rules and never engaged in superfluous affairs with other mages, not that she had not been propositioned. She had just always been more loving and tender towards her plants and the strays she picked up when she went on hunts with templars to help them with the more dangerous apostates. She had been the perfect example of a Circle mage if not for her acerbic tongue that did not spare anyone when she suspected they were not honest with her or when she deemed them to have hidden motives befriending with her. She had few friends but no enemies and all the young apprentices all loved her.

It had been to her great displeasure when she discovered she did not have enough aptitude in Creation spells to even heal a paper cut and, thus, had thrown herself into Herbalism with fervour. Eventually, her potions became the most potent anyone has ever drunk. Some even claiming to have seen dying men returned to life through them. She even managed to create antidotes to some of the more deathly poisons found on Thedas. To continue her research, she managed to convince First Enchanter Remille and Knight-Commander Conand to allow the building of a greenhouse to store her precious plants and a small set of stalls to house her strays; cats, birds, a limp horse and a blind mabari. She cultivated the plants with more love than she showed anyone in the Circle and the apprentices often joked about her talking to them like children as she tended to them.

It had been an unfortunate incident that first made him notice her more candidly. A defiant shriek that he eventually traced to the basement had made him pause from his nightly patrol around the apprentice quarters. He came upon Ines hunching over a broken, bleeding body, snarling viciously at a trio of templars. The deviants were partially undressed from waist down and mocking her efforts to rescue her friend. She had looked flushed and dazed and Greagoir realised they had used Holy Smite on her. He unceremoniously smashed the pommel of his long sword on the heads of two closest to the stairway before the third had raised startled eyes at him. "Knight-Captain… They were escaping curfew."

"That's a lie!" Ines screeched indignantly. "I woke up to see them taking Beatrice from our room. I didn't dare to confront all three of them and ran to get First Enchanter Remille but he was not in his room. Knight-Commander Conand has still not returned from Denerim. I lost their trail…" She wept brokenly, hands pressing down on the bleeding wounds of her friend. "I couldn't find them anywhere until now. I should have stopped them straightaway. Oh… Beatrice… I should have come for you straightaway." Her cries had ignited Greagoir's fury and he smashed the remaining templar's face with his gauntleted fist when he finally realised the amount of damage done to the beaten enchanter. He helped to carry the injured enchanter to the infirmary, with Ines trailing behind him, thanking him repeatedly.

Once they were in the infirmary, Ines had transformed into a tornado of action, rushing around to find water, cloths, bandages and potions to clean and heal Beatrice. He went to wake Wynne to aid the young herbalist and left to take care of the stains to the templar order. The three templars were dismissed from service after he reported their actions to Knight-Commander Conand but not before he had thoroughly crushed each of them in one to one combat to appease his rage.

That fateful first meeting seemed to release a barrage of coincidental meetings they had with each other. Their hands would touch helping up young apprentices who had fallen down, picking up stray books left on the tables in the library and, sometimes, literally walking into each other in the miniature herb garden. It had been as if everywhere Greagoir turned, she was there, though when they finally shared their first kiss, it had been quite an accident.

Ines had been tasked to take over Beatrice's classes while she recuperated from her injuries. The only problem with the arrangement was that Beatrice taught Creation magic to the youngest apprentices. When Ines took over the class, she had been relieved to note that they were in the middle of learning to cast and control the Grease spell, one of the two spells in the entire Creation branch she was familiar with.

Half an hour later, she was not so grateful anymore. The entire section of the library where she had been teaching was slippery with grease and she had no idea how to get rid of it without burning down the entire library. _I really should have paid more attention in Creation class even if I didn't have an aptitude for it._ She sighed, knowing that she could only get rid of the mess through purely physical means. _While not the most successful of lessons, at least all the apprentices are having a good time._ She decided that it was futile to continue the class with everyone sliding helter-skelter and she really needed to clean up before the next class so she dismissed the class early, found a mop and a pail, and begun the tedious process of cleaning up the place.

Greagoir had been patrolling, walking into the section before Ines could shout a warning and, sliding on the grease, had fallen right on top of her. Their lips had met briefly before, blushing furiously, they had quickly attempted to move apart only to collapse onto each other again. This time, their legs had somehow become entangled and Greagoir had looked up to see Ines biting her full bottom lip in anxiety. What drove him to lower his lips to hers and she to respond, they would never know. However, by the end of their kiss, they were both covered with grease and breathless with want.

Regaining her senses when she heard apprentices approaching for the next lesson, Ines had scrambled away from him as quickly and carefully as she could. He had been so stunned by his own impetuous act that he had stayed to take up the mop and clean the floor, causing the young apprentices to giggle when they saw him performing such a domestic act. That night, he had kneed feverishly before the statue of Andraste begging for forgiveness until the early morning bell but could not forget the feel of Ines beneath him, her sweet lips yielding to his.

They had avoided each other after that but the Maker had a strange sense of humour. Greagoir had thought he would regain some peace when it was announced that First Enchanter Remille had picked Irving, Wynne and Ines to represent him in the next College of Magi to be held in Antiva this year. However, Knight-Commander Conand then informed him on that same night that he, Hadley and Bran was to accompany the senior enchanters to Antiva for their protection. Greagoir had groaned inwardly at the tests that the Maker was putting him through and went to pray for guidance from Andraste again. When he dusted himself off at the morning bell, he had been resolved to apologise to the young mage once they were alone on board the ship.

However, it seems that Ines had other ideas. There were only so many places to hide on the ship and Ines seemed to have found all of them. When her cabin proved to be too stifling due to Wynne's propensity to barf every time the sea was not calm, she would talk to the crew about the workings of the ship. Finally, after two weeks, he found her alone on deck admiring the stars. Approaching her tentatively, he was startled when her melodious voice whispered his name. "Greagoir…"

"How did you know it was me?" Greagoir questioned her, curious that she could identify him without turning around.

"You have a distinct clanging to your armour and you smell…" Ines started to explain.

"I do not smell! I bathe regularly even on this little tub of a ship." Greagoir loudly protested.

"I heard that!" Cedric called out from the helm, clearly insulted.

"I… err... Didn't mean it that way!" Greagoir hollered, flushed.

Ines giggled at that. Her laughter curled around his heart like a vine and tightened his loins in a strange but not unpleasant way.

"What are you sniggering at?" He had gruffly chided, extraordinarily annoyed to seem so awkward to her.

"You, of course." She turned around, eyes twinkling brighter than any star, smiling up at him. He silenced her the only way he could think of, by pressing his lips to hers.

Ines' tongue slipped out of her lips to inquisitively taste his. Surprised, he opened his mouth and she had entered, engaging his tongue with hers in a dance that further strained the growing bulge in his breeches. Groaning, he wrapped his arms around her, wildly caressing all the places he could reach. Her soft moans inflamed him and he was greatly tempted to take her right there on the deck without regard to the night watch.

In the end, footsteps jolted out them out of the haze of their desire to discover their clothes were very much in disarray. Three clasps had been unfastened at the top of Ines' robes baring her breasts, which had somehow escaped from her small clothes, to Greagoir. The purple skirt of his templar armour had risen to his waist and his breeches were nearly unfastened. Blushing furiously, Ines had tidied up herself hastily, escaping below deck without a word to him.

That night had been the first night in his whole life, he remembered taking himself in his hands, silently stroking himself to completion with the taste of her mouth, the feel and scent of her fresh in his mind. She had avoided him by staying below deck or hurriedly excusing herself to depart for her cabin whenever she saw him for the rest of the sea voyage.

Thinking his advances undesired, Greagoir strived to find her alone to express regret for his boorish behaviour but they were never alone on the ship. When they reached Antiva and the College of Magi had convened, Ines was too busy with the various meetings and discussions for him to find an appropriate time to offer his apology.

After all the required meetings and discussions were concluded, Ines had urged Irving to let her explore the jungles of Antiva. Greagoir eagerly volunteered to accompany her, much to her obvious horror. Irving, thinking that her horror stamped from Greagoir's verified ability to curb her habit of picking up strays, had readily agreed.

Their travel had been strained. Ines did not speak to him, walking ahead to pick and catalogue any plants she did not recognise, stowing them away in her basket that she refused to let him carry. Every time Greagoir built up his courage to apologise for his inappropriate behaviour, she darted away, attention on another exotic plant, furiously scribbling into her bonded vellum. It almost made Greagoir tear his hair out in frustration. By the time they were ready to camp for the night, Greagoir had been resigned to apologise only after they were ready to rest.

Ines cast wards around the clearing while Greagoir gathered wood. "Will you be hunting or are we eating dry rations?" Ines shyly enquired.

Greagoir eagerly agreed to hunt for fresh meat thinking it would help his apology go over better with her. It was with the Maker's grace that he managed to catch a chicken-like animal near to their camp within minutes of being sent off to the task.

Returning to the camp, he was alarmed to find Ines missing. Dropping his catch, he searched around the area and finally found Ines' robes on the bank of the nearby river but there was no sign of her anywhere. He was about to call out her name when she burst out of the surface of the river, glistening water droplets running down her naked body.

"Maker's breath!" Greagoir gulped, knowing that he should be turning around to grant Ines privacy for her bath but he could not tear his eyes away. Ines continued to wash herself, seeming unaware of his voyeurism. His body reacted strongly to her lovely curves, stiffening and straining against his breeches until finally, he had to turn around before he embarrassed himself in his breeches.

He was starting to walk back towards their camp when he heard a shriek and splashes from the river behind him. Startled, he drew his long sword unconsciously and whipped around to confront the danger.

Ines was struggling in the water and bobbing in and out of the surface as she held onto her calf. With a presence of mind granted by the Maker's mercy, he unfastened his armour faster than he had ever done in his life and leaped into the water to rescue his charge.

By the time he drew near to her, Ines had stopped struggling and was floating, weightlessly, back up in the water. He dragged her towards the shore and laid her gently on the river bank. She was not breathing.

"Sweet Andraste! Please have mercy!" Greagoir pleaded to the Maker's bride as he pummelled Ines' bare chest, wanting to force out the water from her lungs. Blowing air into her mouth and pounding her chest at intervals, he gave a great sigh of relief when she finally coughed up a lungful of water, sputtering, heaving and shivering. He drew her close and lifted her into his arms, walking towards the area where they have pitched their tents.

"Ines, do you have enough strength to light the fire?" Greagoir gently enquired. "Or should I get the flint and steel?"

Shaking her head frantically, Ines cast a small flame blast towards the pile of fire set in a neat circle and wrapped cold arms around him. The wood burnt with a dry crackle, warming their wet and cold skin. She snuggled deeper into Greagoir's arms, like a child seeking comfort and Greagoir was tempted to wrap his arms around her but he knew he needed to get out of his wet underclothes.

He untangled her arms where they had snaked around his body, eliciting a grumbled protest from her. "I need to get out of my wet things." Greagoir explained patiently, setting her down in front of the fire. He rummaged through his pack for dry clothes and a towel, and then moved towards the forest to change.

"Since you spied at me while I was bathing, don't I get to see you naked too?" Ines' soft voice floated clearly to him in the quiet night.

Flushing to the tips of his ears, Greagoir turned around. "You… knew…?" He stuttered nervously, waiting for her to shred him verbally like the many times he had seen her do to other would-be suitors.

"Yes, I saw you. While you may not have liked what you saw, I think it's only fair that I get to see you." She answered resolutely, voice gaining strength with each word.

Greagoir's eyes grew large as saucers. "Did not like what I saw? Maker's breath! If I liked it anymore, I would have come in my breeches just from looking at you." He retorted before he could think clearly about his reply.

Ines gasped, blushed and looked away. Greagoir prayed to the Maker that the ground would just open up and swallow him. When that prayer failed to be answered, he nervously laughed and Ines looked back at him in askance. "I have wanted to apologise to you throughout the whole voyage and the entire day today. Looks like I just added another thing to the growing list of things to apologise for."

As Ines tilted her head up to him in question, water from her wet hair trailed down her breasts. Greagoir lost his ability to speak and all coherent thought as his eyes followed the water droplet until it ended in a small turf of blond curls. Ines choked back a laugh as he physically shook himself and the evidence of his arousal escaped from his wet and somewhat loose breeches.

If a man could die from blushing, Greagoir hoped the Maker would take him now. Standing up, Ines stalked towards him with the grace of the famed Antivan jungle cats while he backed away trembling. "I am not in control of my body right now, please keep away from me." He warned her, putting his hands up as a barrier.

She smiled at him and continued forward, taking his hands and placing them on her breasts, producing an audible gulp from him. "I believe you did not take a vow of celibacy, Greagoir. Have you decided how you wish to continue staying at the Circle?" Templars who wished to be permanently stationed at the Circle were either made to take a vow of celibacy or allowed to "partner" with a mage of their choosing within the Circle. The Chantry turned a blind eye as long as no children resulted from the partnership.

Standing so close that Greagoir could feel the heat of her skin on his cool one and he inhaled sharply when her hand wrapped around his stiff member. He could feel his traitorous body inching closer to her as he gave in to the sensations she aroused and dropped his belongings on the ground. Ripping his undershirt off, he wrapped his arms around her like a drowning man and kissed her with all his pent up desire.

His hands cupped her pert breasts, playing with her nipples, drawing them into tight peaks as he slowly kissed his way down her jaw, neck and finally pulled each peak into his mouth. Her soft mewl burned through his resistance and his hand dropped to her hips and drew her closer. When she unconsciously rubbed her wet core against him, he was undone and threw her down to the ground to hover at her entrance.

When she clamped her thighs close with a protest, Greagoir groaned and looked up at her with stormy eyes. Her voice was breathless as she cried out in fear. "It's my first time."

Greagoir closed his eyes, steeling his body, telling himself to go slow for her. Gruffly, he responded. "It's my first time with anyone too, for real. The dreams I had of you, oh… How you have tortured me in the Fade and now, my dear."

Kissing his way down her abdomen, he lapped up the juices emitted from her entrance with relish. She tasted sharp and tangy, like her ever present scent of mint and lemon. His tongue laved her nub as he inserted a finger into her.

"Oh! Yes… yes!" Ines moaned breathlessly as Greagoir slid another finger into her and started moving them in an age old rhythm. Her moans and mewls brought Greagoir to near breaking point and when the walls around his fingers clumped down and she cried out his name, he had to clutch his member in his hand so that he did not release as well.

"Maker's breath, Ines, you will be the death of me." Greagoir muttered as he tried in vain to calm his strained member only to groan hoarsely when Ines started stroking him. "You really shouldn't be doing that if you don't want me inside you."

When Ines continued her caresses, Greagoir's resolve broke and he slammed himself into her. Her cry of pain seared his heart and he froze.

"Sweet Andraste! You are so tight! Ines, please, may I continue?" Ines sucked in a small breath and then nodded, smiling a tremulous smile. Grunting, Greagoir thrusted desperately into her, the movements bringing them closer to the brink of completion. When she fell into the bliss of it again, he followed her, spilling his seed into her. Exhausted, he fell on her then shifted their positions so that he was not crushing her and fell asleep, still joined to her.

They had made love every night during their jungle jaunt. Sometimes, a look from either one had them rutting against a tree. Days were filled with sweet smiles and nights with sweeter moans of pleasure. They had committed to be partnered once back at the Circle and the entire trip was like a honeymoon for them.

* * *

><p>Struggling awake with the stiffest bulge he had so far, Greagoir ashamedly eased his hands under his breeches and stroked himself to silent completion. It would not do for his fellow templars to hear him. With fresh resolve, he promised himself to corner her today even if he had to budge into her cabin and throw Wynne out. Cleaning himself up, he dressed and strode with purpose to the galley, fully intending to talk to her alone, even if he had to force his presence on her.<p>

He nodded to the crew who had raised a hand in greeting to him. "Ser, a word." The man blocked his path. Cursing softly under his breath, Greagoir questioned brusquely "What is it?"

"The animal, Ser, the one that makes milk for the wee one? It is not doing so well." The deck hand answered nervously, clearly intimidated by the templar's tone.

"What! How? Did you guys not feed it well or provide it fresh water to drink?" Greagoir roared, his only thought of how Ines would react if the halla somehow died on the voyage to Ferelden. She had always been overly attached to any strays she picked up, this one being more important as Neria still refused to drink any other forms of milk.

"What seems to be the problem now?" Greagoir groaned as Ines' melodious voice asked from behind him.

He hurriedly assured her "Nothing that cannot be resolved…"

Ines bristled. "Don't you take that tone with me." Ines retorted icily. "I'm not Wynne and I distinctly heard something was wrong with the halla. If it's sick, Neria can't drink its milk and she refuses to drink anything else so it's deadly serious." Turning to the deck hand, she uttered irately. "I'll go see what's wrong with her."

Greagoir sighed resignedly. If it means he could be alone with Ines, he would go down into the dank, dim and rank hold with her. As they descended, he rummaged through his mind for the safest topic to engage her in conversation. He loved the sound of her voice, the nuances, melody and how it conveyed all her emotions. "If the halla was already sick, do you think Neria could have caught something already?" He started probing tentatively.

"That's what I would most fear, Greagoir." Ines mumbled worriedly, struggling to place her foot on the step when the ship lugged suddenly to the left. Greagoir caught her before she could tumble head first down the stairway. Grasping her against the side wall, he heard her breath hitch when he had to press in closer as the ship lugged to the right. Looking down at her, he suddenly realised that they were only a hair's breath away and if he just dipped his head a little, he could claim her sweet, luscious lips in his.

Ines' heart pounded in her ears as she watched Greagoir's eyes turn the colour of storm clouds and his lips lowered to hers. He caught her lips in a blistering kiss, drinking her in like a long thirsty man would partake of a first glass of water. His tongue begged her lips for entry and she surrendered her senses for just a moment of bliss with a moan. Hands dropping to her hips, he pulled her flush against him as he plundered her mouth dancing his tongue over hers, whipping up a storm of sensations all the way to her toes. Her traitorous hands glided up his plate armour and tangled in his hair, urging him even closer. Through her thin robes, she felt the hint of his arousal and instinctively nestled closer, rubbing herself against him. Greagoir groaned, all good sense lost, pulling up her robe to stroke her through her small clothes. Ines mewled and Greagoir could feel her wetness saturate her small clothes, dampening his finger.

He was loosening his breeches when the ship lugged to the left again, throwing them off balance and Greagoir fought to stand his ground, refusing to let go of her lips. Gravity did not aid him and they toppled down the stairs to land in a clutter of steel on the mid way landing.

"Ow…" Ines whimpered in pain when Greagoir's pauldrons battered into her breasts. This jolted her out the haze of desire and she blushed furiously. She attempted to untangle their limbs and straighten her robes frantically. _What was I thinking? No, I wasn't thinking at all! He is to be Knight-Commander, there is no future for us. Stop this bizarre behaviour and pull yourself together, girl!_

Standing up without looking down at Greagoir, she vaulted down the stairs in a rush. Refusing to see if he followed, she ambled quickly towards the makeshift pen where they had been keeping the halla.

It was very obvious that the poor animal was not well. Lying on its side, it would, no, could not lift its head to look at her when she approached.

Greagoir marched up to her bristling. Turning her around forcefully, he started to rebuke her for leaving him lying there on the landing when he saw her eyes brimming with tears. His anger dissipated instantly and he opened his arms to her. Sobbing, she launched herself into his waiting arms and he embraced her snugly.

"Oh, Greagoir! The halla looks like it is dying… We are still three weeks from Ferelden. Even if Neria would drink the milk we have on board, there wouldn't be enough to feed her for more than a week. She is going to starve." All her frustrations about the current state of affairs overwhelmed her and she helplessly wept in his arms.

Greagoir never felt as powerless as he did while the woman he… loved wept in his hands. He realised that he could no longer deny this despite spending hours on his knees begging Andraste to deliver him from this temptation. He knew what he must do. He was prepared not to take the post of Knight-Commander if it came down to it and would stay with Ines as long as she would have him. He did not know her heart but she had always responded to his heated kisses and he held onto the hope that he meant something more to her than a dalliance.

As she exhausted her tears in the arms of the man who held her heart, she knew that she was being unfair to him. She could not, no, should not, give into the temptation to fall into his arms every time the world seemed to conspire against her. She was no wilting hot house flower, she was Ines, Senior Enchanter of the Circle of Magi, Kinloch Hold, Ferelden, at the tender age of twenty five. She was better than this and he did not need her to be clinging to him at every chance. He did not need her, period. She was just some ludicrous test that the Maker decided to throw his way and she would be damned before she allowed him to fail in his duties because of her.

Clenching her fists, she pushed away from his strong, safe arms and turned away without a word. Removing a handkerchief from a pocket and soundly blowing her nose, she tried to ponder on the direr situation, what the halla had contracted and how to cure it.

"Ines, we need to talk…" Greagoir declared firmly. "You are not leaving this place until we have settled what this is between us."

Pasting a fake smirk on her smile, her heart broke as she turned around. "What is this between us? Well, it was pleasurable while it lasted. Don't tell me you want a more permanent relationship? When we get back to the Circle, I still have my plants and strays to tend to. Neria will probably take up most of my time. I'm sorry if I gave you the wrong idea but it won't work out between us. It's not you. It's me. I prefer the peace that my plants bring me. Now, I need to find Wynne, she will probably be able to diagnose what's wrong with the halla." Running away from Greagoir before her tears fell from her eyes, she disappeared up the stairs in a mad rush.

Stung and stunned, Greagoir looked on as the love of his life literally ran away, heart shattering in a million pieces, ice cold stone replacing it.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Author's Notes<strong>_

_I would like to thank FeZeTh13 for adding me to your list of favourite stories and Alice the Walker for adding me to your alert._

_Sin of the Fallen, I have checked Chapters 4 and 5 and they are different. Do let me know if you are still having trouble reading the chapters._

_FeZeTh13, thank you for your kind review. After falling in love with Zevran in Dragon Age and not finding enough love for him in FanFiction, I decided to step up and create one. Hope I will do a good job._

_I would also like to thank all the silent readers of this story. __Any reviews (either good or bad would not matter but please be constructive) will be greatly appreciated. __This is my first attempt at smut so I welcome any suggestions on how to improve it. __Thanks in advance._


	7. A Brief Escape from Reality

_**Standard Disclaimer: Bioware owns all Dragon Age characters and in game content. I own the bits that are left.**_

**Chapter 7 – A Brief Escape from Reality**

"Where's Ines?" Wynne enquired as she slid in beside Irving, putting her tray down carefully. On it was a small bowl of thin gruel and a large pot of tea, ginger from the strong scent oozing from it.

"I haven't seen Greagoir this morning but Ines has already eaten and should have retired to her cabin." Irving replied absently, studying a Tevinter book on Spirit magic that he had bought in Antiva, while eating a similar, if somewhat thicker, gruel.

"I didn't see her on my way up." Wynne pouted at his obvious lack of attention and poured out a cup of tea for herself. "I wanted to ask her if the amount of ginger in this tea may be reduced. I have been feeling much better and the ginger makes me perspire ever so much. We don't have much water to waste on bathing on this ship."

"I'm sure you will find her there once you finish your breakfast. If you would like, I can help to prepare a bath for you. It just takes a Cone of Cold and a Flame Blast." Irving offered absentmindedly, flipping to another page on his book.

"In your cabin?" Wynne asked hopefully, a hand edged up Irving's thigh under the table.

Choking on his gruel, Irving's flushed face disappeared entirely behind his book. Pushing her hand away gently, Irving whispered. "Wynne, please conduct yourself as befits a senior enchanter."

"So you choose duty?" Wynne surmised petulantly, crossing her arms to scowl at him.

"I will choose nothing until we have reached Kinloch Hold." Irving sighed aggrieved, setting aside the book to pay attention to the younger enchanter. She was very attractive, dark blonde hair pulled into a long, thick plait that wound down her back, just above this rise of her curvy bottom, almost like an attempt to draw your attention to it. Another smaller plait at the side of her head rested just above her ample breasts that strained against her tight Chantry sanctioned robes.

He did not understand her childish infatuation with him which had manifested very early in her life. At a tender age of twelve, she had ran up to him on Feastday, solemnly declared she wanted to marry him, shoved a beribboned box of sweet cakes at him and ran away giggling. He had not encouraged the crush but she had pursued him relentlessly for years after that until he had given in, grateful to have a spirited, young and sensuous companion so late in his life. Before her, a good book had always appealed to him more than illicit, passionate affairs that most of his peers engaged in out of boredom from being cooped up in the Circle. His body, however, could not resist Wynne's numerous temptations and they had slept together once she passed her Harrowing.

Wynne smiled widely at his answer, sullen mood forgotten. "So we can still enjoy each other's company for the whole voyage right?"

"What will Ines think?" Irving enquired mildly. "We do not want to be a bad example for her. Besides, the templars will surely frown on this."

"Ines, already knows about us, silly, and I could always sneak into your cabin after dark." Wynne cajoled, grinning as she sensed her victory.

Irving heaved a sigh. "Very well, my dear, you may come to me in my cabin after dark." Wynne squealed and pulled him in for a tight hug. Blushing, Irving whispered "Keep this kind of behaviour for tonight."

Removing her arms without a protest now that she had gotten what she wanted, Wynne started slurping the hot gruel when loud, clanging footsteps could be heard coming towards the galley in a rush.

"Wynne!" Hadley shouted anxiously. "Wynne! Neria is not well, we need you below deck."

Wynne looked questioningly at the agitated templar. "I just left her with you. What could have happened in the space of minutes?" She questioned, eyes narrowing suspiciously. "You fellows didn't feed her with anything did you?"

"No… No? Err… Yes?" Hadley muttered nervously as Wynne's eyes glared through him, seeming to see through his soul. "She was protesting and Bran thought she was hungry, so we fed her the left over halla milk in your cabin."

"What? That milk has been sitting there since late last night. She had not awakened this morning to take her milk yet." Wynne groaned and smacked herself on the forehead. She should have told them that before she left Neria with them.

Getting up hurriedly, she rushed pushed Hadley to race towards the cabins. As she approached the stairway that led to the cabins, she saw Ines leaning precariously against the rail and yelled "Ines, there's something wrong with Neria, the templars fed her with last night's milk. I may need your help with this."

Ines flinched at the sound of Wynne's voice startling her out of her contemplations, the latter's words taking a little longer than it should to register in her mind. _Neria!_ Ines shook herself out of her reverie, cast a small ice spell at a clean corner of her handkerchief and wiped her face in the ice cold cloth. She pocketed the wet fabric and treaded, heart heavy, towards the cabins, following Wynne.

Entering their cabin, they were greeted by the sight of Bran wiping a cloth across Neria mouth and what smelled like week old refuse. The templar raised panicked eyes at them. "She started vomiting and defecating five minutes ago and it is not stopping."

"Food poisoning." Both female enchanters declared simultaneously. "I'll cast a spell to force out the poison. You make something to soothe her little stomach." Wynne suggested, a green glow already flowing from her hands towards Neria.

"We may need milk for that but I believe the halla is in no condition to produce more." Ines intoned despairingly.

Wynne frowned. It was not like her friend and rival to sound so dejected. Examining her speculatively, she was alarmed when she could not see any fire in her eyes. Completing her healing, she directed her next words at the nervous templar. "Bran, clean Neria up, would you? This should stop her vomiting and diarrhoea for the moment. We'll be in the hold."

Pulling Ines along, Wynne trudged out of the cabin, onto the deck and down the hold again. Nose wrinkling at the smell, Wynne coughed, removed a handkerchief from her pocket and breathed through it. "It's a wonder the halla was not sick earlier if this is what it had to put up with." Her acerbic tone somewhat muffled by the fabric. Pausing on the last step, her eyebrows raised in question, she called out. "Knight-Captain Greagoir, whatever are you doing here?"

Greagoir's eyes were icy storm clouds glaring behind her. She turned and glanced from Ines to Greagoir before a knowing smirk crossed her lips. "Well, we need to get the halla out of here first, that's for sure. The smell would probably kill me soon. Would you be so kind as to help us?"

Greagoir nodded severely. Walking towards the halla, he gathered it up none too gently, causing it to kick out in fear, hooves landing on his greaves. Ines rushed forward, a soothing hand on the halla while turning concerned eyes at him. "Are you alright?" She asked tentatively.

"I'll be fine, thank you." Greagoir retorted frostily. Wrapping his arms around the halla's belly and holding it with its back against him, he walked up the steps to the deck as if the halla weighed nothing at all.

"Your man is so strong! You're lucky my heart belongs to Irving or I could give you a run for your money." Wynne grinned at Ines.

"He… He's not my man." Ines stuttered unconvincingly, feeling a blush creep up her face.

"Tell me, is he any good in bed?" Wynne tittered conspiringly. "I bet his muscles must be to die for."

"Wynne! He is to be Knight-Commander. We can't be together!" Ines protested loudly, unaware that Greagoir could clearly hear her words. He paused, feeling despicable for eavesdropping on their conversation but could not make his feet move onwards.

"So what? Just enjoy him while it lasts, you silly." Wynne teased her serious friend.

"I can't… He means so much more to me than that." Her sob rose through the air and created cracks around the walls Greagoir had spent the last half hour building around his heart. "I don't want to be the reason for him giving up his life. I would not ask my love for such a sacrifice." His traitorous heart sang and broke through the walls completely. _She loves me!_

"Oh! You poor thing!" Wynne could empathise with her younger friend. She had been on tenterhooks over her situation with Irving for the past week too. "Did you ask him? Perhaps he would feel that his life is with you."

"Who would be more qualified to be Knight-Commander? What if they brought someone less kind, less devoted to his duties than him? Would you have me damn the whole Circle to an abusive Knight-Commander just for my own love? That would be selfish and love is not selfish no matter what your romantic novels would have you believe, Wynne." Ines' sobs drew nearer and Greagoir rushed to exit the hold before they caught him listening.

"You think too much." Wynne retorted derisively.

"And you think too little." Ines snapped.

Setting the halla down gently, his head swum with the implications of what he had heard. Logically, he understood Ines' decision but it irked him that she would take the decision from him, choosing to bear the burden of the decision alone. If they were a real couple, she would discuss this with him. Even if they would reach the same conclusions, at least, they would have explored the situation together. Knowing that love existed but could not be sustained should be better than thinking that love did not exist at all? Shouldn't it? His head spun from the rush of emotions and lack of breakfast. It did not help that he had not been eating well this entire week yearning for her.

Someone caught him just as he was about to crash face first onto the deck. Amber eyes, darkening with distress, met his and he nearly gave in to the impulse to close the distance and kiss her. Instead, he placed his hand on her waist for support, feigning more discomfort than he felt and rested his forehead on top of hers.

He felt, rather than saw, her sharp intake of breath and smugly congratulated himself for the ruse. He would chip away her resistance to their love. Knight-Commanders could retire. He could take up the position for a period, find and train up someone good, devout and responsible, retire and they could be together like any other templar mage partners. He just had to convince her to wait for him.

Yellow magic surrounded him and he felt his strength return as the rejuvenate spell washed over him. Inwardly he cursed Wynne and when he raised his head to find her grinning at him knowingly, he cursed out loud. Ines hastily stepped away from him when she realised he was able to stand on his own and removed his arm from her waist gently.

Gritting his teeth, he spit out ungraciously. "I'll go get some breakfast, thank you Wynne for that." Whirling around to leave before he disgraced himself or Ines further, he heard her grumble. "Your man is not the most grateful person, eh?"

Hearing Wynne address himself as Ines' man brought a spring to his step and he whistled cheerfully to himself as he walked away.

Ines shook her head at Greagoir's perplexing behaviour and refrained from correcting her friend. She beckoned Wynne closer to the halla. "Examine her, won't you? I need to know what's wrong with her before I can make a potion for it or maybe it's something you can help with."

Wynne placed her hands over the halla, magically examining to from horn to hoof. Frowning, she did it again and again. Ines grew more agitated each time. "What is it? Is it that bad?"

Wynne shook her head vehemently. "There's absolutely nothing wrong with it. It's in perfect health, at least physically."

Ines perked up at her choice of words, eyes suddenly bright with purpose. She ran for their cabin, leaving Wynne sitting on the deck beside the halla running her hands over it one more time, just in case she had somehow missed something. Coming back with Neria nestled in her arms, she brought the babe close to the halla and waited. For a time, nothing happened. Wynne was about to ask her what she was doing when Neria reached out with her tiny hand and touched the halla on its face. Immediately, the halla shook itself out of its lethargy and stood up.

Wynne's jaw dropped. She had seen nothing like it in all her thirty years. The halla nudged Neria's hand and blew a soft breath against it. Neria gurgled happily. The halla seemed almost satisfied by the sound and walked to the rail, leaning its head over and started to squeal.

"What in Maker's name is the animal doing?" Cedric walked up towards them on his way to the galley for his breakfast, having left the helm to his first after the latter had eaten his. "Should it not be in the hold? What's it doing on the deck?"

The halla continued to squeal. Ines walked to where it stood at the rail and peered at the sea. She could not believe her eyes. Schools of fish, dolphins and turtles seemed to have been drawn to the halla's call and were now swimming alongside the ship. She lifted Neria to look, not knowing if she could see but pointing out the various marine lives anyway. Neria gurgled happily and the crew, curious at the loud squealing from the halla, were joyous at the sight of dolphins. It was supposed to be very lucky to see them and the crew took that to mean the voyage would be smooth sailing.

Cedric ordered the men not on duty to start fishing so that they would have fresh meat for dinner. With the halla's milk, Ines created a potion that soothed Neria's throat and stomach but was still palatable to the babe.

So it was that the halla was brought up for deck time every day after that. Ines would have asked one of the crew to help her but when she came on deck with Neria, she always found Greagoir waiting for her. At first, she had been uncomfortable, thinking that he would seek to speak about their relationship or lack thereof. However, each day, he always found inconsequential and interesting trivia and topics to tell or discuss with her.

Despite herself, she grew comfortable in his presence again and looked forward to each session. Sometimes, she even imagined that they were a small family travelling to some unknown place to build a home. She was careful not to be too familiar with him but Neria would begin to seek him out and they had to stand closer to each other as he was still very awkward carrying her and Ines did not want Neria to fall out of his arms. She would often feel his body heat through his clothes as he had stopped wearing his armour after ascertaining that the crew were harmless. After all their accidental touches, she would be left so faint with desire that she would give into it at nights when Wynne stole away to be with Irving.

Greagoir did not fare any better. He longed to wrap his arms around her, often pretending Neria was their daughter and wishing hopelessly that they could be a family. Nights were the worst when his traitorous mind and body replayed that first night they were together over and over again. He was almost incoherent with lack of sleep but he would not miss the mid mornings with her for anything.

He was walking back to the cabin he shared with his templars when he caught sight of Wynne stealing into Irving's cabin. She winked boldly at him and gestured to the cabin she shared with Ines, grinning suggestively. Motionless, he had watched as she disappeared into Irving cabin before sprinting towards the cabin where Ines was alone in. Well, Neria was with her but she had mercifully slept through the night after her second week on the ship.

Raising his hand up to knock, most of his body froze when he heard Ines moan in pleasure. The only part of him that felt alive strained against his breeches. He tried to open the door but it was locked and was forced to knock softly. After a long pause, Ines called breathlessly. "Who is it?"

"It's me, Greagoir. May I come in?" Greagoir replied gruffly, his voice even lower than usual.

"Could this wait till tomorrow? Wynne has turned in." Ines answered, covering up for her friend.

"No, please, I need to speak with you now." Greagoir muttered urgently.

As Ines tentatively opened the door to see what was so urgent he had to speak to her immediately, Greagoir shoved her back into the room, entered and locked the door behind him.

Eyes wide with shock, Ines could only gape at him. He took full advantage of her open mouth and moved in to plunder it.

She shivered at the suppressed desire she saw in his stormy eyes before pushing him away. "Greagoir, we discussed this. We should not…"

"No!" Greagoir countered forcefully. "You didn't discuss anything with me. You made your own decisions and now I will make mine. I want you. I love you and I don't want to live without you."

Ines awed by his fervent declaration could only gape as he closed the distance she had put between them. As he bowed his head to hers, he pleaded passionately "Give us a chance."

Eyes bright with tears, Ines could only wrap her arms around his neck, drawing him close in acceptance, words having fled her.

They made sweet love that night and each night after that when Wynne left for Irving's cabin. Greagoir would leave long before Wynne returned. However, they managed to discuss Greagoir's initial plans for their future and she was delighted and excited to have some hope, however slim it may be.

Days turned to weeks and the two couples seemed oblivious to the passing of time. One bright morning, at the sound of "Land ahoy!" from the man in the crow's nests, they realised that reality had descended upon them. They had reached Ferelden and the day of reckoning has arrived.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Author's Notes<strong>_

_I would like to thank blackkitsue for adding me to your list of favourite._

_Sin of the Fallen, what is broken can be fixed . Although there is no guarantee it would not fall apart later._

_pwny5153, thank you for your kind reviews. I plan on creating other chapters that would flesh out Zevran as a person. I just hope the Muses would be kind to me._

_I would also like to thank all the silent readers of this story. __Any reviews (either good or bad would not matter but please be constructive) will be greatly appreciated. Thanks in advance._


	8. Becoming a Fledgling

_**Standard Disclaimer: Bioware owns all Dragon Age characters and in game content. I own the bits that are left.**_

**Chapter 8 – Becoming a Fledgling**

_A month ago in Antiva_

Zevran was practically bouncing on the balls of his feet in excitement. After the initial bout of fear and despair when he thought Marta had sold him off like some unwanted furniture, he had calmed and grew excited at the life he was going to lead from the stories she painted to him.

Truth to be told, he was bored with his present life. There was nothing to do around the brothel. The more favoured courtesans had their own servants to look after their every need and the ones less so took care of themselves or had their children do it for them. They all kept them and theirs away from him, seeming to think he was unlucky since he had caused his mother's death or simply because he was an elf.

Marta was the only reason he was still hang around. He had many offers from the gangs of street rats plaguing Antiva City to join them and leave the brothel. He did not want to break her heart by resorting to the thieving ways as she had so often admonished him about. He also did not think he would be very good at preying on hapless strangers who happened to have extra coin but not enough to hire Crow bodyguards.

Nevertheless, he would have joined them in a heartbeat if Marta had not explained herself. His chest tightened as he recalled the love that had shined momentarily in her eyes for him before her often donned mask of heartless brothel owner settled upon her face again. He would not fail her. He would become the best Antivan Crow in recorded history.

Thus, he had woken before dawn, eager to make good his undeclared promise and was all packed and ready to go before breakfast.

_Where was this Crow Master?_ It was already in the middle of the morning and word of Marta selling him off to the Crows had already pervaded the entire brothel. Its occupants, who usually did not rise before lunch or, for some, even tea time, were all awake and curious to see its young occupant's new master.

Marta had sternly told him that she did not want any hysterics from him. She had a part to act and so did he. She would never forgive him if anyone suspected the real reasons behind his sale or if he gave his new master any problems.

* * *

><p>"ZEVRAN!" Marta bellowed towards the brothel before turning to consider the Crow Master in front of her. He was dressed in full black leather armour that fit like a second skin over his toned body. Twin daggers were strapped to his back bearing the infamous Crow insignia.<p>

"Do you have to do that?" Ears ringing, Frediano winced, rubbing his hands over his ears as he waited for his newest recruit to appear. Seconds later, a scamper of feet could be heard and the little boy flew out of the open door, bearing a large, new backpack, in new clothes and shoes. Frediano raised his eyebrow in surprise. "He doesn't need new clothes, the Crows provide for their own. You won't need the backpack either; we don't allow recruits to have possessions other than daily necessities."

Marta puckered her lips in a sneer. "Just what kind of training would he be put through?" Her eyes did not betray any of the doubts and fears that had surfaced at the stranger's declaration. "Surely, he would be allowed to bring a few changes of underwear?"

Snickers could be heard from above and behind her. Marta's lips thinned. She would not show any affection for the boy in front of the occupants of her brothel. "Zevran, give me the pack. I will keep this with me until you return for your weekly visits." Zevran handed over the pack with any fuss. Not only was the pack too heavy to be lugging around, if the Crows did not encourage possessions, he knew better than to have any. He had learned early in life that sticking out too much in a crowd was just asking for trouble.

Frediano nodded in approval. The boy seemed very biddable. "Since I bought you, anything you have belongs to me." He stated arrogantly before gesturing for Marta to hand over the pack to him.

Marta's eyes turned the colour of cool sapphires. "The pack is mine. I loaned it to him. The underwear is based on an advance I am lending him in case he needed anything for his training. If the Crows will be providing him, I won't need to give him that advance." Her eyes bore into the Crow Master. "I don't think you bought anything else from me. If you want this pack, it will be an additional two sovereigns." Zevran nearly grinned but quickly hid it by rubbing his hand across his face, as if there was a smudge on his mouth. The stranger was as likely to get anything out of her as a Sister was likely to come to Moaning Marta to ply the body trade.

Frediano stiffened in irritation. The woman had somehow outdone him with her particular brand of logic. He had thought to save the money required to purchase the daily necessities for the boy. It was required by the Crow recruit training facility for all Crow Masters to provide these for their recruits. Only the plain black tunics that the recruits wore were bestowed by the Guild Master. Alas, he would have to take the boy for a shopping trip now. "We are leaving now." He gritted out tersely, spun around and headed for the market district without a backward glance.

Zevran smiled a small watery smile at Marta before quickly following the Crow Master. Any tears that he shed were silent and unseen by anyone but the strangers that he passed.

* * *

><p>Frediano nearly groaned aloud at the price the merchant stated for the two changes of underwear, two towels and two bars of soap that were the least each Crow Master was expected to provide for their own recruits.<p>

_One sovereign! I am going bankrupt before any of them makes Crow. With my luck, they would probably all die on me and I would have to go back to doing contracts myself._

He reached for his money bag that was tied to the side of his belt to complete the purchase when he found it missing. Patting the various spots on his clothes to ensure that he did not unconsciously stow it elsewhere on his person, he suddenly realised that Zevran, too, was missing.

Snarling angrily, he immediately concluded that the boy had dared to pickpocket him and flee. He rapidly examined the occupants of all the open stalls around him until he gazed upon the thieving slave talking animatedly to an Elven merchant near the end of the long line of stalls. Stalking furiously towards him, Frediano unsheathed his daggers, ready to maim the boy for his crime and seek another less traitorous recruit.

Zevran grinned at him even as he stormed towards him. Inwardly, Frediano could not help but marvel at the audacity of the young boy who did not even bother to run after he had stolen his money bag. As he neared, his eyes lit on the bundle of underwear, towels, soap and candles that the older Elven woman was placing in front of his young slave.

"Thirty silvers for the lot and not a copper lower. You have to let me make some profit, Zevran, or I'll not be able to raise my children properly." The Elven proprietress tousled the younger elf's hair fondly. "Perhaps Rinna would make you a fine bride one day."

Zevran grimaced. The merchant's daughter was a silly little thing, always giggling at the sight of him.

"Oh… Savina, you can do better than that. I do know how you get these, you know, your profit margin is huge given that you…" Zevran proclaimed boisterously, just short of drawing the attention of some of the nearby customers.

Quicker than an agitated cobra could strike, Savina clapped her hands over his mouth and smiled a brilliant smile for any curious passers-by. Gritting her teeth, Savina hissed, furiously. "Fine, twenty five silvers."

Zevran shrugged out of her hold and ran to the other side of her stall. He inhaled a deep breath and made as if to broadcast his next words to everyone in the district.

"FINE! Twenty silvers is my last price and if you can't accept that you can go find your goods somewhere else." Savina all but shoved the items into his arms holding out her palm for the payment.

Frediano's jaw dropped. The boy had to be holding at least five changes of underwear, a similar number of towels, half a dozen bars of soap and two dozen candles. He would have been charged a sovereign for not even half of the items.

Peering at Frediano, Zevran asked, beaming with triumph. "That price good for you, Ser?"

Frediano nodded, speechless as Zevran walked over to him, arms laden with his purchases. "Perhaps you would pay her now, no?" Frediano, too dazed to remember what he was angry about, sheathed his daggers and reached for his money bag. He stared bewilderedly at the money bag that he had instinctively loosened and palmed. More than a little perturbed, he draw out the requested twenty silvers and placed them into the hands of the waiting merchant.

His gaze lingered on the money bag in his hands before he started to count the money he had inside out of habit. It was all there, except for twenty silvers that he had just given to the merchant. Mystified, he stared at Zevran with his arms full of his purchases and back at his money bag before shaking his head in consternation. He placed his returned money bag inside the pocket of the tunic he wore under his armour through the underside of his left arm. It was a precaution he had not taken since he became a Crow.

"Where do we go now?" Zevran enquired, shifting the items so that they rested more comfortably in his arms.

"The leather district." Frediano replied brusquely, still frowning over the mystery of how the young boy had returned his money bag. "How did you do that?" He could not help asking.

"Do what? Ask to buy things at the right price? It's called bargaining. I had nothing to do in the brothel except watch Marta fleece the hapless vendors who supplied the Moaning Marta. I guess I picked up some of her skills." Zevran grinned merrily, deliberately misinterpreting the question. "The other merchant would not have merchandise of the same quality as Savina. She gets her pick of the stolen goods as her brother is a Crow working for the Guild Master. Didn't you know that?" Zevran enquired, tilting his head back to peer inquisitively at the Crow Master.

Frediano's brows rose to nearly the tip of his very short fringe. "How did you come to have this information?" He probed.

"Her daughter, Rinna, told me the other day when I asked her about it." Zevran replied conceitedly. "That girl will probably tell me all the Crow secrets she knew if I asked her."

Frediano's eyes narrowed menacingly at this but Zevran did not notice this. "And she did this not under any dire threat or promise of reward?"

"Well, if you consider a kiss to be a reward then she did get a reward for telling me." Zevran answered grudgingly, nearly gagging at the thought of what he had to do.

"It displeases you to kiss a girl? Would you have liked it better if she was a he?" Frediano questioned, the malice in his previous expression all but disappearing behind a lascivious smile that he directed pointedly at the young boy.

"I have never kissed another boy, so I can't answer that." Zevran retorted somewhat truthfully, slightly chilled by the look on the Crow Master's face. The act of kissing a girl was already pretty gross but a boy? Oh, that was wrong in so many levels to the young elf.

"Well, we will have to improve your education on these things and more." Frediano stated blandly. He marched briskly to the leather district, making a mental note to himself to always bring Zevran with him for any shopping trips and find out who the profiteering Crow was.

* * *

><p>His legs ached. In fact his whole body ached and he could no longer keep his eyes open. Zevran struggled to keep awake but he had been perching on the freezing ledge for the past five hours. He did not understand why he was asked to do this. He only knew that if he did not do well, he would have to skip breakfast again.<p>

His stomach growled, painfully reminding him of the fact that he had not had a morsel of food for the past three days. When Master Frediano had come for him that day over a month ago, he had informed him, while travelling to the Crow recruit training facility, located in the leather district where most of the tanneries in Antiva City were, that Crows did not waste food feeding recruits who would or could not do well. If one failed a test, any test, however minor, one did not eat. He had not pondered too much on this, confident that he would be able to survive on his wits as he had always managed to. However, he was not prepared for some of the tasks expected of him as a Crow recruit.

The first week had been almost fun. He was introduced to the other Crow recruits that were near his own age. There were eleven of them, eight humans and three elves. All twelve six to nine year olds were squeezed into a room no bigger than eight feet by six feet, which led to quite a lot of fighting for space. Zevran managed to secure an upper bunk with little trouble. There were no ladders to the high bunk and occupants were expected to vault themselves onto it or sleep cramped like sardines with others on the floor. The elven boys did not have any trouble with the height, springing onto the higher beds with grace and ease. Some of the older human boys managed to climb the upper bunks and occupy those too. The others, younger ones or those who could not climb, squeezed together on the cold, cement floor.

They were awakened two hours before dawn every day. In the freezing cold air that was typical of Antivan mornings before the sun had risen, they ran around the entire Antivan City twice, not once stopping for water or rest. Any child who lagged behind did not get breakfast. After the run, their large and taciturn trainer, Leandro, whose face was likened to an unyielding mountain face by his trainees, would inspect their beds. Any boy's whose belongings were not neat and tidy, did not eat. Finally, they were made to follow Leandro across creaky and, in some places, rotted floor boards to the mess hall where all the recruits ate or stared longingly at their companions who got to eat. Anyone who made the floorboards creak or, Maker forbid, break also did not eat. All punishments were cumulative. That first day, Zevran missed breakfast, lunch and dinner.

After breakfast, they were taken to a classroom where another trainer, Tancredi, taught them to read and write. He was informed that Crows were expected to be proficient in at least three languages, Antivan, Orlesian and the Common Tongue that was spoken in most countries in Thedas. After language, they had literature, art, geography and history. Zevran was fascinated with the knowledge taught and soaked it all in like a proverbial sponge. This was the one area he did not falter. All the topics appealed to his quick mind and he was as attentive as a pervert on a naked virgin whore.

After lunch, which was a quick affair as most of the boys did not get to eat after failing the obstacle course setup between the classrooms to the mess hall, they were herded outside the compound where numerous training dummies were placed in seemingly random positions and told to pick their weapons from a pile that had seen better days.

Zevran marvelled at them. These were real weapons. Not the wooden ones that children were normally allowed to play with. He waited till everyone had picked theirs before slowly going through the pile searching for something that fit well in his hands. He nicked his hands many times on the edges of the discarded weapons, for though they were not new, they had obviously been recently sharpened. He picked two daggers that seemed to fit just right in his hands before turning back to Leandro who had been patiently waiting for him. Later he learned that they were expected to sharpen the weapons they had picked every day. It had to be sharp enough to slice paper that floated down onto its edge or the owner would not eat a meal.

Hunger was his constant companion for the first week. By the second week, Zevran was able to keep up with even Leandro in the morning runs. Flitting gracefully over the floorboards, sidestepping any creaky or rotted ones that he remembered from his own or others' experience, he was able to take breakfast with the few of the recruits who were as sure footed or simply lucky each day. He never had any trouble with falling asleep during lessons and was able to traverse the obstacle course without mishap. The only daily lessons that seemed devoid of tests were weapons training. Each night, he faithfully went through the stances taught during the day in weapons training, earning the silent approval of his trainer.

By the third week, he was running ahead of Leandro. However, on the way to breakfast, he grew alarmed when a fellow recruit stepped on a creaky floorboard that should not have been there. He looked up to see Leandro smiling wickedly at him and realised that somehow, they had changed the positions. Gazing intently at each floorboard before his fellow recruit placed his foot on it, Zevran started to grasp what a creaky or rotted floorboard would look like and sidestepped his way slowly across the threshold. In the end, he was the only person eating breakfast for that week.

In the fourth week, they started asking the recruits to perch on high ledges such as the one he was currently sitting on at midnight each night. They were only allowed to sleep from after dinner till midnight before they were awoken to be placed at each of the different high positions in Antiva City. Each day, Leandro would come and collect them two hours before dawn for their pre-morning run. Zevran started to notice that the number of recruits occupying the room was decreasing.

When he asked the recruit who was bunking next to him about this, Paolo informed him that they had literally fallen to their deaths after falling asleep on their posts. He had seen another recruit fall from his perch only to have several men scrapping him off the ground and leaving not a trace of the death behind.

Zevran jerked awake fearfully just as he nearly dozed off and before he could plummet to his death. He took heart that tomorrow would be his rest day. He would have lots to eat if his past three rest days were of any indication. Tomorrow he would be able to feast like a king or, well, a very well appointed commoner without having to worry about any more tests for the day. He wondered if he would be able to catch up on some sleep too.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Author's Notes<strong>_

_I would like to thank Unorthodox119 and jjones1908 for adding me to your list of favourites and Raven Jadewolfe for putting me on your alert list._

_Sin of the Fallen, not so much bashing Greagoir. Merely setting up the story. _

_I would also like to thank all the silent readers of this story. Any reviews (either good or bad would not matter but please be constructive) will be greatly appreciated. Thanks in advance._


	9. The Chaos Within

_**Standard Disclaimer: Bioware owns all Dragon Age characters and in game content. I own the bits that are left.**_

**Chapter 9 – The Chaos Within**

The land was gripped in typical Ferelden cold, with snowflakes whirling around them blown hither and thither, by the freezing strong winds. The Enchanters shivered in their Chantry sanctioned enchanter robes while the templars who should have fared better in their heavy armour, having padded tunics and breeches underneath their dense plate, were just as affected by the frosty temperature after getting accustomed to the excessive heat of an Antivan climate.

The group's mood was just as frosty. It was as if a silent line had been drawn between the templars and the mages despite the camaraderie they had shared on board the ship. Irving quickly settled payment with Cedric for the extra cargo and their crossing of the Amaranthine Ocean while standing huddled together with Wynne and Ines for warm, the templars lingering noticeably more than six feet behind them. It was almost as if either the enchanter robes or the templar armour had an enchantment that physically repelled the other or, perhaps, it was simply that the uniforms reminded them of their supposedly opposed stance.

Greagoir was greatly disconcerted when Ines had refused his hand offered in aid to her for stepping off the gangplank. He only hoped that she was not off on that wild notion to let go of him for his own good again. He grew more discomfited when her gaze slid off him like he was one of the numerous bollards that dotted the docks after thanking and refusing him firmly. He felt literally tied in knots and dazed with her blowing hot and cold so abruptly, definitely not because of anything he did, at least he hoped he had not done anything to warrant this most recent of reactions.

They were in Highever, the port closest to Kinloch Hold. After bidding Cedric a brusque farewell, Irving hurriedly led them to the town's mews and paid the fees for stabling their horses. They had left them there before boarding the Ferelden II to Antiva. It seemed less of a hassle than to send them back to the Circle Tower and waiting for them to be sent back when they returned from their trip. He wanted to set off for the Circle Tower once they had made the necessary arrangements to send on Wynne's packages with their other luggage. Irving only hoped the halla would be able to keep up with the horses as he had no intention of hiring a wagon just for it. That would only slow them down and he had every intention of making haste to the Circle Tower. He was never one who liked unresolved situations or missing vital information on anything related to his future.

While they were waiting for the stable boys to saddle the horses, Ines rubbed her hands rapidly together hoping to generate some heat to warm her already numb fingers. "I don't know about you, Neria. Maker knows that I'm a Ferelden born and bred but this cold, after that your warm and friendly Antivan weather, is too much for me to endure." The words had barely left her mouth when a Heroic Defence sprang around her, very effectively shielding them from the icy wind. Curious, Ines looked towards Wynne. She shook her head ever so slightly to indicate that it was not her doing before gazing wonderingly at the baby in Ines' arms.

So far the child had displayed a surprising aptitude for a wide range of spells. Most were cast without incantation or hand gestures. The templars were most perplexed about it but mostly just shrugged off her antics. She was only a babe after all and it helped that she always cooed so prettily at them when they carried her. Ines suspected that they were all in love with her, not that they would admit it. However, the fact that no one could have taught Neria any spells at such an early age was an issue they would have to address before the Chantry deemed her too dangerous to be allowed to live.

* * *

><p>Their progress was slower than Irving had hoped for. Not because the halla could not keep up but as they had to stop regularly, every three hours in fact, to milk it for Neria's consumption. At each tavern they passed through, Irving listened to Wynne engaging the innkeeper in gossip and grew more alarmed as the tales, about what had happened at the Circle Tower, grew more bizarre the closer they got to it. Irving did not know what to make of the rumours, of which there were several.<p>

The First Enchanter Remille had aligned himself with a darksprawn… He poisoned King Maric and Grey Wardens then imprisoned them in the Circle Tower… He forced the entire Ferelden Circle of Magi to wage war against Loghain Mac Tar, the Hero of River Dane… The entire templar force at the Circle Tower had been decimated by blood magic…

If even half of the rumours were true, he greatly feared for the wellbeing of all those within the Circle Tower. Indeed, he wondered if there was even a Ferelden Circle of Magi left and they, Irving, Wynne and Ines, were not the last remnants of it. Tension that had started once they disembarked from the Ferelden II escalated within the group till it is nigh palpable. Heavy silence reigned each night not spent in a tavern with the two factions not speaking to the other and everything communicated through whispers within one's own group or pointed looks between them. When they were fortunate enough to find a tavern with enough rooms to house all of them, they retired each night to their beds after separate dinners without any preamble from anyone.

Everyone was edgy and skittish, startling at the slightest noise due to the lack of it within the group. The horses picked up on this, making them skittish as well, which did not make them any easier to ride and slowed their journey even further, much to Irving's irritation.

His heart had been deeply troubled during the voyage and did not ease throughout the journey to the Circle Tower. He realised not having Remille around to be the First Enchanter meant that either he had to be First Enchanter, losing the quiet and settled life he had envisioned with Wynne, or refuse, if that was even an option available to him, and bear the consequences, for which there surely would be.

It was a position fraught with difficult choices and even more difficult decisions to make as he already knew as Remille's second. Unfortunately, he could not ignore the fact that if Remille had fallen, the burden of the position was most likely to be his and then all that he had come to hold dear might be lost to him because of some stupid Orlesian's thirst for power. That was surely the reason for Remille's otherwise inconceivable actions. Having been his second for the past three years had given Irving a very clear understanding of how the man thinks and his innermost motivations. In fact, he knew that he was only selected to be Remille's second as the other was very much aware of his own lack of ambition. He refused to dwell any further on it without more real and accurate information. He must press on and get it from the source.

Wynne was noticeably sullen as well. Irving had not allowed her close since they had disembarked, always managing to, somehow, evade her questing hands and lips. For the first time in her life and their relationship, doubts were plaguing her. Was she forcing him to accept her? She had always been the pursuer in their courtship. Irving, ever the taciturn gentleman, never actively sought her attention, affection or touch. Would he have in the first place? Was he even attracted to her? Was the First Enchanter position a better option for him than their love? It was the most prestigious position a mage could have in Ferelden after all. What if he did not really love her and it was all a matter of him giving in to her manipulations? The dark thoughts swirled constantly in her mind during the journey, sinking her in a mire that she could not extricate herself from. She shook her head grimly. She will fight this. She will fight for her love like she always had. She had pursued Irving for eighteen years after all, more than half her life, she was not going to give up now.

Ines did not know what to make of the mood but did not care to comment, her thoughts churning franticly around the occupants of her precious greenhouse. Some of the specimens within it were, literally, one of a kind, plants that she had painstakingly cross bred with two or more different kinds to enhance the quality of its healing properties. Besides this, the occupants of the stables were also on her mind. She sincerely hoped that they were unharmed, fed and well looked after. They were not in any state to be able to fend for themselves. In addition, she had her hands full with juggling Neria while struggling to keep her seat. She was never much of a rider. Although, surprisingly enough, on this trip, her mare did not once misbehave or step off the path as she was wont to do. Privately, Ines wondered if this was another one of Neria's numerous talents.

The only one who seemed oblivious to the hostilities was little Neria. Her bright smiles and melodious coos never failed to charm the tavern keepers, bar maids or, Maker forbid, any breathing creature, human or otherwise, they happened across. It was truly a sight to behold, birds singing as if in symphony above her, rabbits popping out from their barrows to peer shyly at her. They scattered the moment any others in their group were close but discretely followed at a distance until Ines, and therefore, Neria, were out of sight. Some came close to touching her, always in curiosity, but there was no doubt in Ines' mind that Neria was never in any danger from them. She would softly coo and reach out with her little hand and the animal in question would gently butt it with beak or muzzle. Ines greatly hoped that the templars would not think to report this as well for it was the most unusual of all talents they had ever seen. If she had her way and the talent did not diminish once Neria grew a little older, she would have her explaining how it was done. Four or five years should be a good age for her to start her explanation.

* * *

><p>Greagoir started noticeably when Bran called out for him to join them in the hunt. They were camping again tonight. It was less than a day from Kinloch Hold and there were no villages in this direction near it. Civilians normally kept well away, fearing the taint of magic. He never really understood this. Then again, he was a templar and not afraid of something he felt was perfectly controllable. The only uncontrollable thing was the mind. His was throwing up images that did nothing to ease the now perpetual ache in his loins that started since they disembarked from the ship. He did nothing to provoke it, did everything he could think of to stop only to find himself in a daze caused by indulging in the fantasies cast by his unruly brain. He stood up, dusting off the light cover of snow gathered on his templar skirts, and wondered how long he had been in a daydream this time. His traitorous eyes sought out the individual imprisoning his mind and heart before he could stop himself. As always, she seemed fixated on the small bundle in her arms.<p>

Greagoir felt an irrational but strong wave of jealousy rising within him again. Once they were back at the Circle, there would be others to care for Neria. He would have Ines all to himself again. For now he stepped up to Bran and Hadley who had been waiting impatiently for him get started hunting. If they did not hunt, there would be nothing to eat.

Most mages were hopeless at finding food for themselves in the wild, present company included. They were simply never taught how. It helped to keep them within the Circle Tower when they realised that they did not know how to fend for themselves in the outside world. That was the reason first time escapees were never made Tranquil. They were simply too thankful to return to the Circle Tower, with six meals provided daily, all without them lifting a finger. It was too much of a luxury for most to deny and most would not make another attempt.

Only Senior Enchanters were taught the rudimentary ways of the world. It helped to reduce the chances of them getting fleeced by merchants. Even so, each was given a very big allowance when they travel. They simply had no head for prices and were, almost, always overcharged for everything they bought. Other than Senior Enchanters, Harrowed mages were allowed to "earn" their keep by teaching, healing or potion making. The Chantry took huge cuts from any jobs outside of the Circle Tower that mages took, leaving them with a pittance to ensure that no one was rich enough to bribe the other servants or, sometimes even, templars into aiding in their escape. The mages were even encouraged to spend their coins on innocent indulgences like books, robes, jewellery and other frivolous things that ensured their continued poverty and, thus, dependence on the Chantry's forbearance. It had been like this since Circles were established all over Thedas after the fall of the Tevinter Empire. Greagoir could only wonder which of the Chantry's founders had such a devilish mind.

* * *

><p>Irving heaved an audible sigh of relief on seeing the spire of Kinloch Hold in the distance. He missed the place. It had always been a home to him, a safe haven from his abusive but, ironically, Maker fearing father and magic hating mother. He had been saved from being drowned by his own parents by a travelling templar and taken to the Circle Tower at the age of six. He had grown to love the place, which others often thought as cold and forbidding. To him, it was a place where he was accepted and protected from others who did not understand him or the gift he was born with.<p>

Urging his horse to a quicker pace, he hastened onwards without even thinking to stop for lunch much to Wynne and Ines' annoyance. While Neria was normally a very well-mannered baby, if she was left too hungry, she tended to start sobbing so heartbreakingly that travellers would turn accusing eyes at the mages, seeming to think they were abusing the poor baby. In addition, not to make too much of an issue of it, Ines and Wynne concurred that strange things happened to the weather when little Neria was upset. This, they kept to themselves. As it was, there is too much ammunition against Neria's continued existence as the Chantry saw it, without them bringing more attention to this anomaly. Thus, Ines and Wynne have been ensuring that no such incident was repeated to prevent the templars from catching on.

"Irving, Neria needs to be fed soon. Let us stop and milk the halla before she starts whimpering again." Ines proposed as evenly as she could while bouncing on her saddle.

"I too need to eat something. I'm starved! You moved off before I could even have breakfast this morning." Wynne whined even as her stomach let out a growl so loud it could be heard clearly above the clops of their horses trotting on the hard packed dirt road. Blushing furiously, Wynne moaned. "What's up with your hurry in reaching the Circle Tower anyway? It's still there isn't it? It's not like the damn thing has collapsed or something."

Irving gritted out tersely. "If you had woken up when you were supposed to, you would have had time to breakfast before we broke camp. However, I suppose I don't want little Neria to get all upset from being hungry again. We'll stop once we reach the Spoilt Princess." He did not wish to explain his irrational fear that everyone he had ever known was gone, that everything he had held dear was destroyed. He just needed to see, to touch, to ensure that it was all there, not gone.

Wynne's face flushed then tightened. Without a word, she set her horse galloping down the road.

Ines pursed her lips, irritated by Irving's behaviour. "Let's get a move on then. The Spoilt Princess is still at least two hours away at our current pace." Tucking Neria closer to her, she tentatively whispered to her. "If you want to drink milk sooner, perhaps you could do something to encourage the horses to move faster?" For a moment, it seemed that her words had no effect. In the next, all the other horses in the group suddenly bolted down the road at such breakneck speed that their riders were forced to hang on for their lives or be thrown.

* * *

><p>"Kester? Where's your father?" Wynne enquired of the young man who was standing by a small row boat as she dismounted without aid. "We need the barge to get the horses across."<p>

"My da's helping with the construction of the new doors back at the Tower." Kester replied, securing the row boat more firmly on the single bollard on the jetty. The others dismounted as well with differing grace and skill.

Wynne's eyebrows rose. "New doors? What's wrong with the old ones?" She could not fathom any need to replace the large doors made of Avvar stone and dwarven built to last through the ages.

"The Hero of River Dane blew a great big hole in the wall through the front courtyard to rescue the king, he did." Turning to gaze at the horses the group was leading, he remarked. "Not sure where you might place them beasts, the stables were destroyed."

Ines' heart sank. "The animals? The greenhouse?" She whispered holding her breath in dread.

"The animals, what's left of them, which really aren't that many, are in the Circle now. Your apprentices took care of them once they, the apprentices, not the animals, were healed up. There was a terrible fire at the greenhouse cause of the blast though. Not sure if many of your plants are left, Senior Enchanter Ines." Kester winced at the look on Ines' face. "We did all we could to save everything but some of the plants did not make it cause they couldn't acc… accimi… Can't for the life of me remember the big word Senior Enchanter Beatrice used but, well, some just couldn't make it even after we saved it from the fire. She's looking after the rest that did, waiting for your return."

"Acclimatise." Ines remarked absentmindedly as her head swirled and she felt thoroughly heartsick. Years of research and cultivation destroyed by some hero who did not have the decency to take care that his rescue harmed no innocents, even if those innocents were not human, elf or dwarf. If she ever, ever laid eyes on him, she would give him a piece of her mind in a very painful way. "The Tower? Was there any damage to the library or the mages' quarters?" It would take many years but if her vellums of research were safe, perhaps, she might avoid having to go through all the trials and errors she had previously endured to achieve success.

"Not so sure about that, Senior Enchanter Ines. Let me go get the barge and you can see for yourselves."

* * *

><p>The front courtyard was a charred mess. Trees, previously lush green and provided much shade on the few hot Ferelden summers, stood like gloomy skeleton soldiers guarding a freshly trodden path towards a pair of heavy steel doors set before a blackened vestige of stone wall. Alford, Kester's father, was bracing one of them up while an unknown dwarf was fitting it to some mechanical contraption fixed into the thick stone.<p>

He looked up in suspiciously at the approaching group. The sun in his eyes prevented him from making out who they were until they were directly in front of him. Realising who they were, his face broke into a welcoming grin. "Maker, it's good to see ye Sers and Senior Enchanters. The place is not the same without all of ye around running the show. Them Orlesians made a right mess of things." Looking around to ensure no one else was in the hearing. "Her holiness's here. Right tight assed bitch she be too." Greagoir gasped at the slight. Tilting his head slightly, Alford continued "Maker knows I'm a Maker fearing man but there has to be limits to piousness and lines drawn between that and hypocrisy." The twinkle in his eyes belied his scorn. "She be waiting since the week past to get to speak with ye lot. Good that ye not linger in that Maker forsaken foreign place."

"Her grace has been staying here?" Greagoir paled. There would only be one reason for the Grand Cleric to linger at the Circle Tower. Well, if the rumours were to be believed, two. He risked a quick glance at Ines but her face looked as if cast in stone and revealed just as much.

Irving was just as white if not more so. It seems most of the rumours were true. First Enchanter Remille and Knight Commander Conand were surely dead. Their appointments must be empty for the Grand Cleric to travel halfway across Ferelden from Denerim to the Circle Tower. The fact that she was still here and expecting them made it very clear who she expected to take up the newly vacant positions.

The other half of the door that had already been secured banged open, nearly knocking the dwarven workman down. He glared up at the plate armour clad figure that stood in front of the now open door. Whoever it was just ignored him, removing his helmet with a flourish.

"Ser Greagoir! You are finally back. Her Grace has been expecting you and we really need to regroup and plan out the templar duties." Bryant, who had been standing guard behind the other half of the doors, chose to speak up after hearing Alford had finished addressing them. He gazed at the bedraggled state of the group. "I'll need to fill you in before you meet her but it's best the lot of you clean up first. You know how finicky she can be." He gestured them in, motioning for them to leave the horses.

Maron, standing beside him, stifled a chuckle at that. "She made us polish all our armours to shine like mirrors. The apprentices had a field day getting them mucked up again once they recovered."

Ines' face softened. "How are they? Were many injured in the coup?"

"They're mostly fine now. Bloody Orlesians roughed them up pretty good, especially the older ones who resisted. Leorah and Cera were… " Maron grimaced, not wishing to go on seeing Wynne's and Ines' dawning looks of horror. "They are better now, much better. Beatrice is looking after them. Finn, Godwin, Niall and Petra were also hurt when they resisted but that was just smites, albeit more than they needed to keep ones so young quiet. Those were NOT my brothers in arms and it's a good thing Teyrn Loghain's troops slaughtered them or they will just escape back into the woodwork like the little worms they are." His face was mottled red at this point. "Those templars not amenable to their ridiculous scheme were fed a strong sleeping draught but the mages and apprentices were... Maybe Loghain's troops should have left a few to us, that's all I'm saying. Oh and Ines, I think they broke into your laboratory to search for the sleeping draught's recipe. It was a mess in there. Not sure if the bastards destroyed any of your work but Sweeny is tidying up in there."

Ines' heart sank further. "Is there anywhere to stable the horses?" She asked not quite sure what to do with her mount when all she wanted was to get to her research.

"There is a temporary one at the back now. Yahel, here," Bryant pointed at the scowling dwarf, "helped build it after the old one was burnt down. He is helping with the rebuilding of the greenhouse at the back as well but Her Grace wanted the new doors installed to 'prevent mages taking the chance to escape' were her words."

Ines snorted in disbelief. "If most of the mages and apprentices were injured, who is going to escape?"

Bryant raised his hands in surrender. "Hey, take it up with her. I'm not the one sticking her nose into places not appreciated. Anyway, were being the operative word here. Most of the mages and apprentices are back on their feet and it's been chaotic around here without anyone to take them in hand."

"Wynne! Ines! Irving! It's them, they're back!" A chorus of voices heralded the stomping of feet. Instantly, they were surrounded by a cacophony of voices asking questions left and right.

"Did you get us anything from Antiva?"

"Oh, please say there are sweets."

"Chocolates! Chocolates are better!"

"Were there any new spells taught during the College?"

"Is that a baby?"

A hush fell after that last question. Stiffening visibly, almost as if getting ready for a possibility of attack, Ines hugged Neria closer and answered evenly. "Yes, she is to be a new apprentice."

Maron raised an eyebrow. "A baby as an apprentice? Is this a dream? Maybe I fell asleep while guarding the damn door." He finished with a slight smirk. Neria chose that moment to coo, seeming to be greeting the young templar. _Here we go again._ Ines thought wily, and sure enough, Bryant, Maron and the other apprentices were instantly charmed. Cuffing an apprentice that she motioned to the groups mounts. "Take them to the temporary stables and make sure they are properly brushed, fed and given clean water."

She handled Neria over to Wynne carefully. "I need to go help Sweeny sort out whatever mess those fiends did to the laboratory. His eyesight isn't the best as it is. Look after Neria for me?"

Wynne nodded. "I'll look in with Beatrice to see if she needs help." She needed a distraction from the sickening ache that had started in her heart and head. She wanted to be away from the person causing it. They walked further into the Circle Tower after informing the disappointed apprentices that their souvenirs were with their luggage and not likely to arrive before the end of the week.

Irving and Greagoir stared helplessly and hopelessly after them. "I'll explain later. Her Grace should not know about the baby." Greagoir stated in a tone that brooked no argument. Bryant and Maron shrugged, curiosity etched on their faces, neither really cared much for the Grand Cleric, so it was not too much of a request to satisfy.

Bran and Hadley moved past the four at the door as well. "We'll just get to cleaning up then. Who do we look for to get our schedules? I'm assuming Knight Commander Conand is no longer around?" Bran looked questioningly at Bryant.

"That should be me but if what I think is going to happen, happens, it might just as well be Greagoir. Why don't you guys just take the day off? You'll know who to look for by the end of the day." Bryant grinned, almost looking relieved at the prospect of relinquishing the duty.

"Well, it's about time you have returned." The obnoxious voice of Her Grace, Grand Cleric of Ferelden, reached them before her person did. She strolled up to them, regally accepting their proffered bows. "Your duties await you, Knight Commander Greagoir, First Enchanter Irving."

_**Author's Notes**_

_I apologise for the very, very late update. Real life just sank its teeth into me and well… I promise that I will update as soon as possible from now on. Pinky swear. :P_

_I would like to thank Raven Jadewolfe, Nocterayne, Ra'iira The Fiend and Corea for your reviews. I love hearing what people think of this._

_In addition, I would like to thank Hyliian, jillrosa, SinisterMeds and Ra'iira The Fiend for adding me to your list of favourites and putting me on your alert list._

_I would also like to thank_ _camiraven for adding me to your list of favourites. Furthermore, I would like to thank Taisenokami and Corea for putting me on your alert list._

_It really gladdens my heart when I receive notifications of people __reviewing__, adding me to their list of favourites and putting me on their alert list. Thank you all so much for your support, it helps to keep me writing. :)_

_I would also like to thank all the silent readers of this story._


	10. Untying Binds

_**Standard Disclaimer: Bioware owns all Dragon Age characters and in game content. I own the bits that are left.**_

**_Author's Note: _**_This is one of those chapters that earn this story its M rating. Consider yourself warned._

**Chapter 10 – Untying Binds**

The Grand Cleric dragged them unceremoniously into the Knight-Commander's vacant office where she had very obviously taken over for the past week. Papers and vellums were strewn over the surface of the table while log and schedule books were piled high and shoved to either sides of it. Greagoir winced inwardly at the mess.

"Well, Ser Greagoir, I congratulate you for accomplishing your duty with no mishap." Lips tightening, she turned to Irving. "Senior Enchanter Irving, as second to First Enchanter Remille, I am obliged to ask if you knew what he planned to do when he staged the coup here."

Irving gaped in disbelief. "You think I know what he planned? How would I know what that Orlesian maniac was thinking? I had strong misgivings when he insisted I attend the College of Magi on his behalf this year but I could not have anticipated such a conspiracy!"

Glancing pleadingly at Greagoir, his words died at the suspicious gleam in the Grand Cleric's eyes. "Do you seriously expect me to believe that as his second you knew nothing of his plans?"

"Your Grace, if I may be so bold. I can vouch for Senior Enchanter Irving's innocence. He has always conducted himself with utmost propriety and is very much a Fereldan at heart despite being a mage." Greagoir stated gruffly.

_Despite being a mage? For Maker's sake! How does being a mage affect one's patriotism?_ Irving glared at Greagoir before meeting Her Grace's eyes. "I swear that if I had known his plans, I would have stopped him. As it is, we have only heard rumours about what happened here. Given some of the wild tales we had heard, they can't all be true. I would greatly appreciate if you would brief us so that we may carry out any further investigations necessary."

"No further investigations are necessary. Teyrn Loghain and his men have executed all the traitors involved in the coup. Now it's just a matter of getting the Circle back in shape." Her Grace stated in a weary tone. "Not one of the other Senior Enchanters seem to know how to run this place."

Irving protested indignantly. "They were executed without a trial?"

"Well, not so much as executed but killed in action while they resisted Teyrn Loghain's rescue attempt. They fought most fiercely, even collapsing the basement entrance in a bid to stop Teyrn Loghain's troops from entering the Tower. However, they were foolish to underestimate the Hero of River Dane. That did not stop him. It only made him more determined to get to the King."

Greagoir's eyebrows rose with each statement. Irving mused that if they went any higher they would reach his hairline.

"How was Knight-Commander Conand involved? Surely he would not have gone along with Remille's madness?" Greagoir enquired hesitantly. He did not believe his judgement of a man, someone he had served under for nearly a decade since his first assignment to the Circle Tower, could be so flawed. Knight-Commander Conand had always been fair if stern in all his dealings with the mages. In spite of being an Orlesian, he had been well liked within the Circle by most templars and mages.

"Knight-Commander Conand was brutally killed by dark magic. The mages had never seen the like and could not identify it." Her Grace muttered darkly. "One might wonder if they were just denying the obvious. It could only be blood magic ever all."

Irving frowned thoughtfully. "Perhaps we could have a look at the body to…"

"It has already been burnt. His ashes are now in an urn that will be sent back to his family when the group that is to return to White Spire is ready to go." Here, the Grand Cleric's face turned a mottled red. "Teyrn Loghain ordered all Orlesian mages and templars expelled from the Circle Tower and Ferelden. He wants no more Orlesian intrigues and has seen fit to threaten the Chantry with reduced tithes and loss of noble favour if we should refuse him."

Greagoir bit off a bark of laughter while Irving's frown deepened. "If the group is not ready to leave yet, why the haste in burning the body, Your Grace?"

"The smell and the mess! You don't think I could live in such an environment?" Her Grace retorted looking around the room. "They barely got the stains off the furniture, books and papers as it is! Look, this table is still blood stained after the mages and servants went at it more than twenty times." She pointed to a small corner of the table where a small, dark coloured whorl could be seen.

"He was killed here?" Greagoir enquired urgently. "The templars stationed at his door did not detect anything? Even if it was blood magic, they would still have been able to sense the blood taint."

"They must have been part of the rebellion then or killed, who knows?" Her Grace sniffed indifferently. "What I need now is to appoint a new Knight-Commander and First Enchanter so that I can leave this barren place and return to Denerim where I would at least be able to work, eat and sleep in comfortable surroundings. These bedrooms you have here are so plain and lacking of amenities."

"Do you have someone in mind or would you like me to recommend someone to you?" Irving asked hopefully. Greagoir gazed at him in amazement. _She means us you idiot! Why do you think she asked us in here?_

Her Grace did not disappoint. "Nonsense! Both of you are the perfect candidates for the position unless there is something you wish to notify me?"

Both of them gulped. Irving started to speak "Well… If I may be so bold… I…"

A glint flashed in the Grand Cleric's eyes. "I would only have to assume that you were somehow involved in the coup if you refuse the position with no valid reasons. The standard punishment would, of course, be Tranquillity for mages and execution for templars."

Irving blanched. _Not Tranquillity! Anything but that!_

Greagoir just inclined his head reluctantly. "It would be an honour to accept the position."

Irving glowered at the floor. "I will accept the position. However, I need to know what went on here. The casualties, injuries and damages sustained. You mentioned transfers?"

* * *

><p>"By the decree of Her Grace, Grand Cleric of Ferelden, the appointment of Knight-Commander will be assumed by Ser Greagoir. Furthermore, the appointment of First Enchanter will be assumed by Senior Enchanter Irving. Their duties will commence officially tomorrow morning immediately after the appointment ceremony in the great hall. All mages and templars not on duty are to be present for the ceremony. Let us all offer them congratulations." Bryant intoned officiously from a piece of vellum and finished with a wink at Greagoir. He frowned when he noticed how tight his lips were drawn. <em>One would imagine he wasn't happy about his promotion.<em>

Sparse claps and cheers sounded within the dining hall. Most templars and mages were delighted by the choices. Both were considered fair men who had the best interests of the Circle in mind. Irving found his gaze caught by Wynne whose eyes held depths of pain he did not wish to acknowledge. He broke off the contact, fervently wishing he was somewhere else, anywhere else but here.

_He chose to be First Enchanter. We are nothing. I mean nothing to him._ Her heart ached and she felt tears threatening to fall. _I've been a fool for eighteen years._ A surge of anger roared through her and she embraced it. Anger was good. Anger would keep her from falling apart. She stood abruptly, startling the mages sitting around her.

"I'll bring a plate to Ines. She's probably still sifting through her precious research." She mumbled incoherently while stumbling out of the hall, heading ostensibly towards the kitchens. No one stopped her and she did not pause until she reached the infirmary, all thoughts in a jumble even as her traitorous tears started to fall. She slammed the door behind her and fell to the floor sobbing silently at first. Then, realising there was no one to hear, she starting weeping in earnest.

She never really knew what made her fall in love with Irving. Maybe it was the fact that he was the first friendly face to greet her at the Circle Tower when she had arrived a frightened not quite nine year old in the company of intimidating templars. Maybe it was the lessons at Primal that he so patiently tutored her in even though she had no aptitude for it. Maybe it was even his obliviousness to her growing feminine beauty through the years that made him such a challenge. Whatever it was, it was always him. She had never wavered from her love of him. She had felt sure that she could make him feel the same way for her. _What a fool I've been._

Her anguished sobs filled the infirmary. It was empty except for an Orlesian templar who was still in a coma after the coup. Apprentices had sworn that he had tried to shield them when the other Orlesian templars started to abuse them. It seemed that he had refused to take part in the coup and shielded the young apprentices from beatings by his brothers-in-arm. He was tortured and left in the dungeon, found only after the young apprentices escaped from their confinement. He had been severely dehydrated, starved and his wounds were inflamed. Beatrice had managed to heal most of this. It was his internal injuries that had caused him to lay unconscious. Wynne had urged a spirit to assist her in healing those as soon as Beatrice informed her of the extent of his injuries. He now lay in a deep, healing slumber and should hopefully wake soon.

"Ah… Pourquoi pleurez-vous, ma belle? Déchirures ne sont pas pour l'un aussi belle que vous." A pair of rich brown eyes peered up at her from the bed where the templar had laid unmoving.

"You're awake! How do you feel?" Wynne's healer instincts took over. Her magic reached out, seeking any areas where he may still be hurt.

"You are an angel come to save my life or have I gone to the Maker's side?" A mischievous twinkle was in the templar's eyes. He was younger than her, of that she was sure but his manner spoke of a man confident with the ladies.

Satisfied that all was well, Wynne released her hold on the Fade and sank down beside him on the bed. Touching his forehead, then the back of his neck to judge for herself if his skin was clammy, she noticed a light flush rising up from his neck to his face.

She scrutinised him. He was handsome; a face all chiselled and hard angles that would have been cold except for his warm brown eyes. Board shoulders and hard muscles of a man used to heavy armour and kept in active fighting form.

The rest of him was covered under a thin woollen blanket and, as Wynne continued her earnest examination, she realised that he was reacting to just her look and that he was very flushed.

Smirking, she proceeded to lean towards him, looking deep into his eyes. Cupping his face in her hands, she chuckled when he turned beet red. "You must be coming down with a fever to be so flushed in winter." As she started to turn away, the templar grasped her wrists to hold her in place. Wynne gasped.

"Beautiful one, you did not answer me. Why were you weeping? Tears are not for one as lovely as you." He, in turn, gazed wonderingly into her eyes. "Man should be fighting to make you smile. Tell me who has caused you tears and I will slay him for you."

Wynne gawked. She had never had such words spoken to her before. She knew she was attractive. She had many offers for dalliances after all. However, none dared speak to her in such a way. They were always under the templar's watchful eye and she had only indulged with Irving. He spoke no words of endearment. She had long ago decided that he was not good with words but, now, it may have been that he was simply not as enamoured with her as she was with him.

The templar adjusted her position on top of him until she was straddling him and he was holding her close. She could feel his obvious erection under her thighs. She flushed and made to ease out of his arms.

"Don't move." He gritted out tersely. "I just want to offer you comfort. Any gentleman would offer this to a distressed lady. Ignore my unruly body. It is only natural for it to react to such luscious beauty. I'm injured not dead. Now, tell me, what is troubling you, ma petite?"

Wynne looked into his warm brown eyes and saw understanding. She was not completely sure if that was what made her tell all to him. Maybe it was because he was a stranger who would soon be leaving. Maybe it was because she felt so comforted in his arms. Maybe it was because his warm brown eyes held no hint of censure. Maybe it was a combination of it all or none at all. All she knew was that she told him everything. Even her deepest fears and, at last, was weeping on his shoulders in despair.

His hand was caressing her hair in a soothing motion when she finally stopped, utterly embarrassed by her outburst. _I'm a Senior Enchanter for Maker's sake._ She drew out a delicate lace handkerchief and dapped at her eyes. She was very fortunate that she was a good crier, none of the snot and red noses that plagued other lesser females when they cried. She drew back and he let her, smiling gently at her when her eyes met his.

"He is a fool, you know that don't you? Either that or he is blind or possibly he is both if he lets you go just for this. I know officially you cannot be together but what's to stop you from being together unofficially? If you love each other, it should not matter. After all, it only matters that you would be together."

Wynne's eyes grew wide. She never thought of it that way. Perhaps the templar was right. _Of course he is! It shouldn't matter that Irving is First Enchanter as long as he is willing to still be with me._ A tremendous smile grew on her face. "I'm so glad that I was able to heal you." Placing a chaste kiss on his cheek, she got out of his bed. "Thank you for your comforting words, Ser… What is your name?"

"Marcel, my dear lady. Marcel de Lucien at your service. You are very welcome. It is a very small price to pay for one's life." He grinned and then sighed deeply. "Unfortunately, I fear that I have reached the last reserves of my strength, ma petite. If you have no further need of me, I will rest now."

Wynne smiled as she retrieved a thicker comforter from the armoire and tucked it around him. "Rest, you have to get your strength up. I understand from the grapevine that you are expected to travel back to Orlais as soon as you are able to."

"I have introduced myself but the angel refuses to give me her name?" Marcel muttered even as his eyes started to close.

"Wynne, my name is Wynne." Wynne softly whispered as she watched him fall asleep before leaving the infirmary with a lighter heart.

* * *

><p>"Ines." Greagoir called for the third time, louder than the previous instances. Startled, Ines jumped and nearly ripped the vellum she had in hand.<p>

"Greagoir!" She heaved a deep breath to calm herself. "What are you doing here?"

"I should be asking you that. It's dinner time and you aren't in the dining hall." Greagoir stated bemusedly.

"Is it dinner time already?" Ines squinted her eyes myopically at the small window near the ceiling of the room. Darkness could be seen through it. "I must have lost track of time rearranging my research to some semblance of order."

"I brought you some food." Greagoir pushed a plate piled high with food towards her, taking care not crush any of her precious papers.

Ines sniggered. "I can't possibly finish all this alone. Share with me?"

"I intend to." Greagoir smiled tentatively, picking up a morsel and placing it in her mouth.

Ines chewed reflexively, agog at this strange tender man Greagoir had become. Shrugging mentally, she picked up a piece as well and fed him. His face lit up as he closed his mouth over her fingers, drawing a gasp from her. Grinning irrepressibly, they continued until they polished off the plate.

Ines was licking her fingers when she caught Greagoir's intent stare. With an impish sparkle in her eyes, she began languorously sucking on them. Greagoir's breath hitched and his eyes turned that stormy grey she knew so well. He caught her by the waist and sat her on the table, kissing her as furiously as he had dreamt of doing throughout the long journey from Highever. One hand caressed her breast while the other slid up her thighs to find her already wet and ready for him through her smalls.

He groaned audibly, fumbling with his breeches while Ines' hands reached under his mysteriously unbuckled breastplate to caress his nipples. In one swift motion, Greagoir dragged down her smalls and thrust himself deep into her eliciting a deep moan. He fought to remain in control but the feeling of her sheath so tight around him after so long was too much. He plunged into her with increased frenzy, heedless of the mess they were making of the papers on the table.

"Greagoir… Oh Maker! Greagoir!" Ines keened the last as she plummeted off the edge of sanity into starbursts of ecstasy. Greagoir could not help joining her as her walls constricted and convulsed around him. "Ines!"

It took long moments for both of them to regain a conscious state of mind. Greagoir rested his forehead on hers and fought to get his breathing under control. He should have been sated but as he felt Ines shift beneath him, he felt himself going hard again. He wanted nothing more than to take her again. After so long without her, he felt that he had only just started to appease a small portion of his need for her. As his hands wandered up along her side to caress her breast again, Ines pushed away from him.

Without meeting his eyes, she pulled up her smalls, straightened her robes and started picking up the papers that had scattered haphazardly on the floor after their love making. Tapping them on the table and lighting patting them into place, she finally looked up at Greagoir with a cool expression on her face. "I understand congratulations are in order, Knight-Commander Greagoir."

Greagoir tensed. "We talked about this on the ship. I'll train up someone to take over my position. Then I'll claim the position to be too much responsibility and ask for a demotion and a transfer to a less hectic Circle. Once I know where I get transferred to, I'll send for you. There would be no Circle not willing to have a mage of your talents."

"Indeed Knight-Commander Greagoir," Ines replied with a calm and collected air. "Until we are partnered as planned, I would greatly appreciate if we do not repeat what we just did."

Greagoir stared incredulously at Ines. "What do you mean?"

"I neither wish to be used against you nor for you to be used against me. While there will be open applause at your appointment, I do not wish to live in fear of hidden grudges. So it is best to not be too close to each other." Ines stated very matter-of-factly.

Greagoir was stunned. Not once during the voyage had they fully listed down every detail of their plan. They had always generally discussed it then got too carried away with each other to continue. Ines, however, seemed to have it all planned out.

"Couldn't we find some secret way to be together?" He asked tentatively.

Ines closed her eyes and heaved a sigh. When she met his eyes, hers were filled with anger. "No matter what precautions we take, people will find out. The Circle Tower is only so big, there are only so many places to have an affair. Do you wish for me to become your sordid secret? Do you realise how this could undermine your authority?"

Logically, Greagoir understood. Emotionally, he was reeling. "Do you know what a torture it would be for me to see you daily and not be able to touch you?"

"Would you like me to request for a transfer to another Circle? Antiva perhaps? I didn't have the time to fully explore their jungles. I am sure that I would be able to get an invitation from Alfonso to revisit and get myself permanently reassigned there."

"No! No. Stay, please. Neria needs you." Greagoir pleaded desperately. He could not imagine not having her around. He would lose his mind wondering how she fared.

Ines nodded in acquiescence. "How long Greagoir?" She fixed her gaze steadily on him. "How long do you wish for me to wait for you?"

Greagoir's jaw dropped. "I wouldn't know how long? I'm not even sure if there are any suitable candidates to train. Even if there is, the candidate needs to learn the inner workings of operating a templar order in a Circle. It took me nearly a decade to pick up and effectively work on all the things Knight-Commander Conand taught me."

"Do you wish for me to wait for you indefinitely then?" Ines' face was cold as stone and just as inscrutable.

"No, I want this done as soon as possible too! It's just… It is really impossible for me to tell you how long it would take. Please give me time." Greagoir implored.

"How long? One year? Two years? Three years? Five years? Eight years? Thirteen years? How long do you wish to have?" Ines relentlessly questioned.

"Why is it so important for you to define a time limit? Can you not be patient?" Greagoir felt his temper escalating to a danger point.

"If there is no time limit, there would be no urgency, nothing to look forward to. We would, inevitably, end up as strangers, seeking others to fill the void left." Ines retorted acerbically.

"You are already proposing that we become strangers!" Greagoir shouted in despair.

"Do you love me or just lust after me?" Ines queried, an eyebrow rising mockingly.

"If I wanted to lust after anyone, it would be Wynne!" The words were out of Greagoir's mouth before he realised. His mouth snapped closed as he stared at Ines in horror.

Ines flushed in anger and gritted out stiffly. "It's good to know how you really feel, Knight-Commander. If you will excuse me, I think I will retire to my quarters." She moved past him like a hurricane in a wild swish of skirts.

Greagoir took a deep breath and strode after her. Before she managed to open the door, he reached out, grabbed her hand and swung her around. "I didn't mean that, Ines, sweetheart, I love you. I don't know how or when it started but I know that I love you. Don't ever doubt my love for you. Please. If you will wait for me to sort out this mess I'm currently in, we will be together like we planned. Please don't leave thinking that I ever desired Wynne over you. I'm an ineloquent idiot. Please forgive me." He raised her hand to his mouth and kissed it fervently.

Tears fell from Ines' eyes. Greagoir felt like such an ass and tenderly brushed them away. "Don't cry, love. Ten years. Would you give me ten years? Is our love worth at least that much to you?" He desperately offered.

Ines nodded and stretched up to kiss him lightly on his lips. "Ten years. Work hard in training your replacement and let's be together again in ten years."

Greagoir backed her against the door and kissed her heatedly. "Why can't we be together in the meantime? In secret if you don't want to risk others knowing?"

"I don't know if I can pretend that there's nothing between us when there is. It will show." Ines pushed him away and Greagoir let her.

"What about just now?" Greagoir countered.

"That was goodbye. At least for now." With that, Ines fled the room.

* * *

><p>The knock on Irving's door disturbed him from his sombre thoughts. "Enter!" he called absently.<p>

Wynne swept impetuously into the room.

"Wynne? What are you doing here?" Irving asked in amazement.

"I'm here to inform you that I will not give up on us. If we can't be officially together, I'll take being together in secret." Wynne declared with gusto. "As long as you will have me?" A slight hint of doubt entered her voice.

Irving was dumbfounded then sadness surged into him. "No, Wynne. We can't be together. Not even in secret."

It took a moment for Wynne to process his words. She collapsed into an empty chair, all bravado gone. "Why not? Don't you love me?"

"I…" Irving steeled himself to speak. "I am grateful for your companionship but the position of First Enchanter cannot be compromised by personal relationships." He recited in a mechanical tone.

"Read that somewhere in a First Enchanter's handbook did you?" Wynne sneered, blinking to keep from tearing. "Gratefulness was not the emotion I was seeking from you." She sniped.

"Wynne, I know that you believe that you love me but it really is just an infatuation that has lasted this long due to your stubbornness." Irving uttered in a soothing tone. He could tell that she was on the verge of tears and if she did cry, he would surely falter in his bid to free her.

Sadness and anger warred within Wynne. Anger won out. "I am not some schoolgirl with a teenage crush! I am thirty this year and have loved you for eighteen years. Does that mean nothing to you?"

Irving lowered his head and mumbled. "I have already expressed my gratefulness to your companionship."

"To the Void with you!" The door slammed shut after Wynne swept from the room in a fury.

_Love should be embraced in the brightness of the sun and not shadows, my dear. You deserve that kind of love, Wynne. I'm so sorry I cannot give you that. I hope you will find someone who can love you like that and that your heart will be recognise him. Forget about this old fool even if he loves you as he has never loved another woman._

* * *

><p>"How old are you, Ser Marcel?" Wynne was examining the young templar for any further injuries that would prevent his journey back to Orlais.<p>

It is very early in the morning. Wynne had slept not a wink for the past three nights since she left Irving's room. Her thoughts were varied and conflicting. One moment she would be fantasizing about improving her Primal spells to rain down fire, ice and lightning on that faithless man. In the next, she was a sobbing mess of heartache that would not abide.

Each morning, as the first light of dawn peeked over the horizon, Wynne would give up on sleeping. It was fortuitous that she could not sleep, for in her current emotional state, she would be an appealing target for demons in the Fade.

She came to the infirmary each morning knowing that using her Healer skills would distract her from nonsensical fancies. Afternoons were spent teaching classes and she was unlikely to break down in front of an audience. Evenings she spent with Ser Marcel, talking about his family (he was a noble), how he came to be a templar (he was a third son) and any other topics that kept her mind from Irving. She avoided having meals in the dining hall, preferring to bring plates to share with Ser Marcel.

"I'm twenty seven. And it's just Marcel. None of the Ser nonsense, ma cherie." Marcel muttered while sternly admonishing his body to behave itself. He never had so much trouble with the beautiful ladies back home. "How about you, ma petite?"

"A senior enchanter's age is a closely guarded secret. Those that know will be killed." She replied in a stage whisper surprising herself that she was still in a mood to tease.

Marcel's eyes twinkled. "I must have missed that information during my templar orientation."

Wynne frowned at her own capriciousness. "You are ready to leave as long as you take it easy and not exert yourself too much during the journey." Wynne patted him on his arm, striving for a business-like tone. "I'll let Her Grace know this. She plans to see you off before she leaves for Denerim herself."

"Where is Senior Enchanter Beatrice?" Marcel enquired, sensing Wynne's need for a distraction. "Not that I am not happy that it is you who is examining me, just idle curiosity."

"I switched duties with her as she took over my classes while I was away at the College of Magi in Antiva." Wynne muttered tersely.

"Not that I am complaining but you seem to be spending a lot of time in here. Isn't it supposed to be a shift system?" Marcel tilted his head enquiringly.

"I… wish to be out of sight of the fool." Wynne snapped before blustering around the infirmary tidying up cots, lining up potions, anything to keep her hands busy. She jumped and stiffened when heavily muscled arms encircled her and pulled her into a back hug. Despite herself, she leaned back, seeking the comfort offered freely.

"Ah, ma cherie, that is an awkward situation: your ex-lover is your new boss." Marcel joked even as he turned her in his arms so that she faced him. Lifting her chin, he peered into her eyes, saw her vulnerability and his heart ached for her. "Perhaps a change of scenery would be welcome? How about coming with me to Orlais? You would help me to take it easy on the journey back and I would offer you my protection against bandits and other riff-raff."

Wynne gazed strangely at him. "I am Fereldan."

"And this is significant because?" Marcel raised an eyebrow.

"We hate Orlais and Orlesians." Wynne protested weakly.

"I find that hate is such a strong word. Have you ever been to Val Royeaux? It is a great city. Not at all like your Denerim. The shops have a variety of goods never seen in other lands. The White Spire is located just within it and, as Senior Enchanter, you can visit the market at any time. I could give you a personal tour." Marcel cajoled. "If you like it, you can stay. If you don't, you can take the next boat back. I may be overconfident here but I am going out on a limb that you do not hate me. So why don't you give my country a chance to charm you too?"

"No, I don't hate you." Wynne was hesitant and at a loss for words to refuse. It was so tempting to accept and leave all this heartache behind. However, she had learned that everything has a price. "What do you want from me?"

"Ah… Ma petite… It is my duty as a knight to rescue damsels in distress and you are a damsel who is very obviously distressed." Marcel declared with a swagger of eyebrows.

A giggle nearly escaped the disconcerted Wynne. _No one will care that I'm leaving. Beatrice can teach all my classes just like she did during the College of Magi._ "Yes, let's go to Val Royeaux together."

**Translations**

Pourquoi pleurez-vous, ma belle? Déchirures ne sont pas pour l'un aussi belle que vous. – Why do you weep, pretty one? Tears are not for one as beautiful as you.

Ma cherie – My darling

Ma petite – My sweet

_**Author's Note**_

_I would like to thank Sandrial Tsubasa for adding this story to your list of favourites._

_It really gladdens my heart when I receive notifications of people __reviewing__, adding me to their list of favourites and/or putting me on their alert list. Thank you all so much for your support, it helps to keep me writing. :)_

_I would also like to thank all the silent readers of this story._


	11. The Growing Years

_**Standard Disclaimer: Bioware owns all Dragon Age characters and in game content. I own the bits that are left.**_

**Chapter 11 – The Growing Years**

_9:11 Dragon Age, Circle Tower, Lake Calenhad, Ferelden – 1 year after Neria (now 1) was found_

"Beatrice!" Ines charged into the infirmary, carrying an unconscious Neria. Beatrice rose from the table where she had been folding pieces of linen for use as bandages.

"What happened?" Beatrice asked even as she extended her magic to examine the little toddler.

"It's entirely my fault! I let her play in the laboratory as, there was no one around to ask to look after her, I had to tidy up my lesson notes for Expert Potion Making. Somehow she got into my potions cupboard and happily drank down an entire bottle of Concentrated Deathroot Extract I left in there for the next Expert Potion Making class." Ines was frantic and her eyes were bright with tears. "I should have placed it on a higher shelf. What was I thinking? I knew that she was in the curious stage where she placed everything in her mouth…" A sob shattered her rambling and for the first time since Beatrice knew her, she saw Ines break down in tears.

Struggling to concentrate and quashing her natural inclination to offer comfort to her friend, Beatrice did not answer as she examined the child from head to toe. Frowning slightly, she turned to Ines and enquired gently "Are you sure she drank the bottle? Maybe she simply spilled it somewhere else? She's not poisoned… She's asleep."

Ines' eyes widened disbelievingly. "Smell her mouth."

Beatrice leaned forward and sniffed Neria's mouth. Immediately, she felt the effects of a hallucination start to build. "Goodness!" She intuitively cast a minor healing spell on herself to get rid of the effects. There was no way a child so young could survive an entire bottle of Concentrated Deathroot Extract but after examining Neria again, she could not find anything wrong with her. The young child was simply in a deep slumber.

"Perhaps, she only had a small sip." Beatrice suggested, not really crediting it herself. "Why don't you leave her here and I'll examine her again after she has woken up?" She was very sure that she would find nothing wrong with Neria later.

-0-

_9:12 Dragon Age, Antiva City – 2 years after Zevran (now 9) was bought by the Crows_

Most people think that the assassin guild was called the Antivan Crows as the black birds were a symbol of death. However, in his first year as a Crow recruit, Zevran learnt that it was actually a mnemonic for

**C**overt  
><strong>R<strong>econnaissance  
><strong>O<strong>bedience  
><strong>W<strong>iliness  
><strong>S<strong>eduction

in the Common Tongue. These were the five stages that a recruit would need to be trained and tested in before he became a full-fledged Crow. For the past two years, he learned stealth, pickpocketing, lock picking, making traps, disarming traps, poisons and antidotes. This was besides the normal educational classes, stamina and weapons training they had to go through.

Zevran sailed through most of the lessons with ease, passing each test within three months or less. His pickpocketing skills were so profitable that Master Frediano was able to purchase five more recruits and supply them all very well.

However, he did not have the patience with the mechanics of lock picking, making traps and disarming them. When he missed meals, it was mainly due to failing tests for these. It was to his utmost frustration that he managed to break all the lock picks provided to him. Traps he made could not be triggered or were too potent or did not have the desired effect. Traps he was disarming had a habit of breaking his tools, triggering and even causing him serious injuries.

After more than six months of this, Master Frediano simply told his trainers that he did not care if Zevran did not excel as in these skills. He did not wish to waste any more money purchasing lock picks, trap making and disarming tools or sending Zevran for healing. If money crossed hands in order for Zevran to be pushed up, he considered it a small insurance against further damages to his fortune.

So Zevran was pushed up to learn poison and antidote making. After a week of these lessons, the recruits were no longer starved. Instead, they were presented with tables groaning with food at each meal. At the first of these meals, Zevran's survivor instincts clamoured so shrilly that he had very carefully sniffed and took only small portions from each plate. Recalling his lessons, he promptly pulled out his bag of antidotes and began quietly making antidotes to the various poisons that he tasted or smelled while most of the recruits fell on the food in delight.

At the end of that first deadly meal, Zevran was the only recruit from his room to survive. Out of over ninety first level recruits, only less than twenty were remained. They were all bundled into a new dormitory and learned that a fresh batch of recruits soon filled their previous rooms.

By the end of Zevran's second year, he was moved into another dormitory where there were nineteen other recruits. He was the youngest of them all.

-0-

_9:13 Dragon Age, Circle Tower, Lake Calenhad, Ferelden – 3 years after Neria (now 3) was found_

The young toddler in oversized apprentice robes with long braided raven hair and dark chocolate eyes sat quietly in her front row seat closest to Senior Enchanter Ines who was teaching Basic Primal today. No one appreciated how much she understood until Ines finished her demonstration and urged them to create the rock armour around themselves. Neria was immediately covered under a layer of rock that made her look almost like a mini stone golem.

She beamed up at Ines joyously and turned around as exclamations rang through the class. Her classmates, all older than her by several years were having a variety of success with the spell. Some managed to cover only their hands, some their torso, a few managed the entire body except for their heads. Thus, Neria was the only apprentice to succeed on the first try.

Ines could not help but be amazed at the young child. It had always been like this. No matter the school of magic, one demonstration was all it took for Neria to understand, control and wield it like a mage several times her age.

She glanced at Greagoir who had taken to silently standing guard at the back of the classes she taught. At first she was exasperated and demanded that he cease such duties. There was no need for the Knight-Commander to be doing guard duty and it made the apprentices very nervous. However, Greagoir had beseeched her not to rob him of the opportunity to be near her and she had eventually relented, wary of what he might do if she denied him even this. To keep up appearances, they sniped at each other as much as they could whenever anyone else was around and had everyone in the Circle believing that they were mortal enemies.

He was watching Neria so intently that she must have felt it. The child turned dancing eyes in his direction and grinned delightedly. In spite of his usual gruffness, Greagoir found that he could not help the answering smile he returned.

Neria was well loved and a secret within the Circle from the Chantry. She did not even have a real phylactery though only Greagoir, Ines and Irving knew this. The small vial with her name held the halla's blood, not Neria's. No matter how they had poked, pricked, cut or in the last resort, stabbed Neria in their attempt to draw her blood, she had only blinked and the wound would seal up as if never there. The weapon that they used to do the deed would be stained red but not a drop of excess blood could be extracted for use in the phylactery. The blood would always have dried up almost instantly. They would have placed in the dried blood but the magic of the phylactery vial required fresh blood. Even when they put her into a magically induced sleep or paralysed her, they were never able to collect even a drop of blood from her.

In the end, Ines suggested using the halla's blood, as a temporary measure, so that no other templar would question the lack of Neria's phylactery. Greagoir reluctantly agreed as he had no wish to murder such a young baby. That was the official course of action for any mage who refused to provide blood for their phylactery. He rationalised that Neria was not refusing. It was that they did not know how to obtain it from her and he was really loath to cause the infant any further bodily harm especially when Ines had taken to looking after her like Neria was her own child. Watching Ines interact with Neria and Neria's reactions to both Ines and himself, Greagoir would secretly fantasize that Neria was their child.

-0-

_9:13 Dragon Age, Antiva City – 3 years after Zevran (now 10) was bought by the Crows_

Zevran shifted his feet to ensure continual blood flow in his limbs to keep from cramping up. His current mission was to spy on one Prince Curcio, a merchant prince who made his fortune selling coffee. He would need to report on who he met up with, what he did with them, where he went, how he spent his day and why he did anything.

This was his first long mission and he was the first in his level to be given one. His trainer, Rinaldo, had been very pleased with the results of his first few mini missions. They were made to make observations after watching a seemingly benign scene after five minutes, fifteen minutes, thirty minutes and one hour. Each time, Zevran was the only one in his level who could shrewdly point out the disguised Crows within each location in addition to the other nonthreatening details. From scenes, they were asked to observe humans, elves and dwarves. They were taught to observe body language, facial expressions, words spoken and left unspoken, and last but not least to disguise themselves to infiltrate a targeted premise. Each time, Zevran was the first in his level to expose the subjects' secrets or infiltrate a premise through a disguise without being unmasked.

So now, he was given the reconnaissance of an actual mission that would pay Master Frediano a percentage of the profits if completely successfully. He had already observed the subject for more than three weeks. So far, the Prince had followed a very consistent daily schedule: visits to his office in the morning, resting in his villa in the hot Antivan afternoons, attending parties or whoring in the evenings. Zevran had even taken the place of one of the young elves in the establishment he frequented after said elf was disposed by an older Crow. So far, there was no variance and he was bored. He really wished there was more to do but he did not dare to lose his focus in case he missed anything as this could be a paying mission.

He was perched high enough on a leafy oak tree to see into the Prince's room on this hot Antivan afternoon. The heat made him sleepy but he kept shifting silently to keep from dozing. The Prince had come into his room for his daily afternoon nap and Zevran waited for him to undress for bed. However, the Prince did not disrobe. Instead, he stepped up to his fireplace and twisted a small decorative flora whorl on its mantelpiece. A door sprang open from the side of the deep fireplace.

Zevran gaped silently and climbed higher on the tree to see if the Prince was going into a secret room or leaving his villa. After less than five minutes, the Prince exited from the area of his villa closest to the side entrance normally used by servants. He looked around cautiously before briskly walking towards the paddock where his horse was grazing. Zevran entered stealth mode and leapt from the tree to follow him.

Prince Curcio climbed onto his mount with the aid of the fence and soared over it riding bareback on the horse towards the south. Zevran ran after him barely keeping up as the prince was galloping towards his destination with an eagerness that belied his usual lethargic self. He pulled up outside Prince Alvino's villa and tied his mount's leads to a branch out of sight from the villa. Moving to a section of the wall where there were angel motifs, he pressed on the head of one of the angels and a section of the wall swung open.

Zevran sought out and climbed another tree that would shield him from the eyes of Prince Alvino's guards but still enabled him to spy on the premise. He noticed that Prince Curcio was meeting with a brown haired lady in the garden gazebo. Soon, the purpose of the meeting was apparent. Both of them were naked and copulating on the cushioned day bed.

Zevran watched with a detached interest as they shifted in various positions. After nearly two hours, Prince Curcio finally dressed, kissed the lady and left the estate in the same way he entered. Zevran entered stealth mode again and trailed the Prince all the way back to his villa. Master Frediano was duly paid for Zevran's work on this mission.

-0-

_9:14 Dragon Age, Circle Tower, Lake Calenhad, Ferelden – 4 years after Neria (now 4) was found_

The little boy was standing nervously beside the templar who had brought him to the Circle Tower. Neria tugged Ines' hands to urge her to walk faster and, eventually, let go to run beside Greagoir's faster pace. When Greagoir reached the pair, he glanced at Neria and nodded surreptitiously at her. He was thanking the templar for his work when Neria drew the little boy aside.

"Welcome to the Circle Tower! I'm Neria. What's your name?" Neria smiled in welcome at the little boy. He had dark brown hair, sad blue eyes and he looked like he had been crying.

"I'm… Jowan… Just Jowan now, I… I guess." Jowan stuttered timidly.

"I'm four. How old are you?" Neria continued to hold his hands and Jowan relaxed visibly.

"I'm five." He smiled uncertainly at Neria.

"How did you get found out?" Neria peered curiously at him just as Ines walked up. Irving was teaching the Expert Primal class and asked Ines to take over his duty of settling the young apprentice just brought in. "This is Ines. She'll help you get a bunk in the apprentices' dormitories, robes, boots, writing and bathing supplies. Do you have preference? Upper bunk, lower bunk, beside a wall, stand alone, backing a wall…"

"Neria," Ines chuckled amusedly, "Give the boy a chance to reply you. He can't get a word in edgewise with you rattling on like that." It had been a stroke of genius on Irving's part to include Neria in the "welcoming committee" as it was dubbed. She was a natural at putting others at ease.

"Oh… Pardon me." Neria beamed beguilingly at Jowan. "We can talk while you get settled down. I have a feeling that we'll be best friends from now on. If you need anything, just ask." She declared with a winsome grin.

Jowan grinned back despite himself at the adorable elven girl. He just could not resist it. They walked side by side, holding hands, behind Ines as she led them further into the Circle Tower.

-0-

_9:15 Dragon Age, Antiva City – 5 years after Zevran (now 12) was bought by the Crows_

"Kill or be killed!" Leandro bellowed from the side of the training ring. "It's a fight to the death."

Zevran's eyes bulged in shock. _To the death?_ He glanced at Fausto, his sparring partner for the past three years. The older teenager's nostrils flared before he crouched into a fighting stance, circling him.

Zevran did not want to hurt Fausto. They had been friends for the past three years since they were bundled together into one dormitory after the initial toxic feast. He was unlike the other human recruits. He did not treat elves like lesser beings and had even been the one to first befriend Zevran even though he was three years older than him.

Hesitantly, Zevran took up his attack stance and circled Fausto. Fausto was the first to feint like he always did. Zevran knew how his friend fought. He knew all his weaknesses and Fausto knew his. Well, he knew all the weaknesses that Zevran chose to show him. Marta was very specific in her instructions not to fully trust anyone within the recruits, even someone who was a friend. He bowed to her wisdom and compiled by not displaying all his skills when in front of others. Only on individual missions did he do his best to excel. If this was to be a fight to the death, it would be a very close fight if he was really only as good as he normally fought.

Zevran waited for Fausto to attempt to overwhelm him with a flurry of stabs like he always did. At the last second, he dodged while swinging his leg out to sweep Fausto off his feet. Fausto fell and before he could stand, Zevran's dagger was at his throat.

Zevran gazed into Fausto's eyes and saw his fear and wavered. He glanced up at Leandro and questioned "Is it really necessary to kill him?" when he felt the sting of a dagger thrusting between his ribs.

Instinctively, his grip on his dagger tightened and plunged into Fausto's throat. He stared, horrified, at his friend who was grasping his throat in futile bid to staunch the flow of his life's blood with both hands. Blood spurted in a relentless gush from his wound staining the ground crimson.

Fausto's dagger was still buried in Zevran's ribs and he felt the beginnings of the symptoms of being poisoned. A deep sense of betrayal rose in Zevran and he angrily drew his dagger out of Fausto's throat and buried it into his traitorous heart before standing unsteadily to walk to Leandro. "I believe the dagger is poisoned." He managed to wheeze out before he collapsed.

* * *

><p>Zevran woke slowly. He felt like his body was on fire. He moved to shift into a more comfortable position and groaned from the wound at his side.<p>

"You are lucky to be alive, fool." Master Frediano flew to his side in a rage. "Why did you hesitate to kill Fausto? Crows do not hesitate when given orders. They obey."

Zevran winced as the last sentences were nearly shouted in his ears. Elven hearing was more sensible to humans, shouting directly into an elf's ears was grating in the best of times. In his current state and with his injuries, the sound pounded and ricocheted in his mind causing an acute headache.

"What was the poison Fausto coated on his dagger?" Zevran asked, slowly sitting up to rummage through the bag of antidotes he always kept on him for possible ingredients.

"Quiet Death. Or at least it should have been Quiet Death. The dumbass only used two toxin extracts, two deathroots and one concentrator agent. That's why you are still alive." Master Frediano eyed his most promising recruit with a jaundiced eye. "Once you are well, you will need to be punished. You are aware of this?"

Zevran laid back down resignedly. His mind swirled with thoughts of Fausto actually wanting to kill him so badly. Luckily, he was never one to get his poison recipes straight. There was no antidote for a mistakenly made poison. One had to just live through the effects stoically.

He knew that he should have obeyed without hesitation. After all, that was the objective of this phase of training. However, there was something very different from killing kits, kittens, puppies, piglets, lambs, foals and killing another person who was also a friend.

For the past year, they had been given various young animals to rear. After a few weeks or, later, months, they were ordered to kill them. Zevran barely hesitated and was whipped soundly for dithering. Some of the other recruits who had refused outright were taken to Velabanchel, where Crows imprisoned anyone for torture or just to keep them captive.

Fausto had been one of the recruits taken. He was the only one who was brought back. When Zevran had enquired on his stay, Fausto had refused to divulge any details. However, each night, he woke Zevran and others in the dormitory with blood-curdling screams. The others had been infuriated by his disturbance of their sleep which they already got so little of each night. Zevran had helped to defend him against attacks from the others. After more than two months, the screams finally settled to soft heartrending sobs that only Zevran heard as he bunked on top of Fausto.

"I'll be taken to Velabanchel?" Zevran enquired falteringly then resolutely quelled the shiver in his voice.

"Yes, I have already greased some palms so they won't be too hard on you. But you will need to learn that any order given to you must be obeyed to the letter, Zevran. If you do not learn this, you will die as a recruit." Master Frediano sighed as he motioned to someone outside the room. "Heal up the recruit. They are already waiting to bring him to Velabanchel."

* * *

><p>Upon arrival, he was dropped into a deep dark hole in the bottommost region of the prison. It stank worse than the sewage tunnels in the slums of the city and he only had standing room. He could not lean against the sides as they were jagged and tasted like they were lined with poison. Yes, he tasted them for the dew that gathered on them in the early mornings to keep from dying of thirst. It was the only way he could tell the passing of time given the darkness. They left him in there for three full days and he was nearly delirious by the end of it. Given a murky cup of water and a piece of mouldy stale bread for sustenance, Zevran did not even care if it was poisoned (it was not) and cramped them all in like the starving teenager he was.<p>

Next, he was made to sit naked on a chair covered with piercing spikes that a mage had heated with a Flame Blast. Each spike burnt and cut into his flesh and it was all Zevran could do to keep from screaming. He bit down on his lip until it bled not wanting to give his torturers the satisfaction of hearing him scream.

Finally, after three days of this, Zevran was placed on a rack. He was close to delusional from the pain and blood loss. When they turned the cranks, stretching his arms and legs way beyond what they could naturally yield, Zevran finally screamed and fainted.

"Heal him and send him back. Master Frediano wants this one alive."

-0-

_9:15 Dragon Age, Circle Tower, Lake Calenhad, Ferelden – 5 years after Neria (now 5) was found_

"Senior Enchanter Wynne is back from Orlais!" The excited whisper was heard as the dining hall suddenly grew silent when a beautiful blond glided into it.

Irving's heart stopped then started beating frantically again as he absorbed the sight of his lost love. It was like the past five years apart had melted away and all the defences that he thought he had in place just collapsed without any warning. He quickly lowered his head before their eyes could meet. He needed her to continue believing that he did not care for her. At first, she had written him regularly but as he did not send any replies, not wanting to encourage her, her letters became lesser and lesser. He never opened any of the letters she sent. He feared what he would read in them. However, he did not throw them away or destroy them as he should have. He simply could not. They were kept in a box with so many layers of warding that it took even him more than an hour to open it safely.

Wynne gazed around and noticed Irving immediately. There was more white in his hair now. She thought that he looked even more distinguished than before. _Damn it! Why does he get to look so good after so many years!_ She steeled herself before walking towards him. "Hello, First Enchanter. I have returned to take Beatrice's place." Senior Enchanter Beatrice was to be transferred to Anderfels as they required a Senior Enchanter who was gifted in Creation spells. Their previous instructor had died of old age.

"Good… Good… I believe your old room is still available. Have the servants bring your luggage up to it and freshen up if you require to." Irving mumbled, seemingly absorbed in his meal.

_Five years apart and he won't even look at me!_ Wynne raged. "I don't have any luggage except for this pack." She declared hotly. "I will eat before retiring if you don't find me too dirty for the table."

Despite himself, Irving looked up curiously at the backpack that Wynne had slung behind her. It was the standard backpack sold in stores all over Ferelden. _She has changed. She had always travelled with mountains of clothes, different staves, potions, poultices and other herbs, just in case. Of course, she's changed. It's been five years._ "I don't mind at all. Find yourself a seat and help yourself." He forced his gaze back to his meal that he could no longer taste so that it would not to linger on her.

Ines beckoned from down the table. Beside her was a little elven girl with wavy black hair and smiling brown eyes. _Maker! They remind me of Marcel's eyes._ A stab of pain shot through Wynne's heart. She clamped down on her rioting emotions, smiled and went to sit beside her friend who she had not seen for five years.

"This is?" Wynne waved towards the child sitting on Ines' other side.

"Hi, Senior Enchanter Wynne. Welcome back." The little girl said in a sweet, melodious voice. "I'm Neria. I've grown since you last seen me, haven't I?" Neria tittered shyly. Apprentices from other tables glanced around at the sound and smiled to themselves.

To say that Wynne and Ines were astounded would be the understatement of the Age. "You can't possibly remember her, Neria. You were only a baby when Wynne left." Ines protested uncertainly.

"Of course I do. I shot her in her bottom several times with lightning bolts didn't I?" Neria answered not too quietly. Snickers were heard from apprentices while whispers started surging from the ones who were closest to them to others in the large hall like a wave.

Wynne stared accusingly at Ines as if this was somehow her fault but Ines could only helplessly shrug. "She has been a very aware infant." Passing a plate to Wynne, Ines elbowed to her sometime friend. "You seem to have become more well-rounded." Her eyes gazed meaningly at Wynne's breasts and derriere. Soft snickers were heard again around them. "Too much rich Orlesian food? Why didn't you write me at all in these five years? I can't believe you didn't even let me know you were leaving."

Wynne heaved a great, tired sounding sigh. "Let's catch up in my room later. The First Enchanter has informed me that I'm getting back my old one. I don't wish to talk with so many gossipy mages and apprentices around." The last sentence was declared in a tone loud enough to be heard by all around them.

Ines hid a smile. "Very well. Let's eat and talk later then."

-0-

_9:16 Dragon Age, Circle Tower, Lake Calenhad, Ferelden – 6 years after Neria (now 6) was found_

"Neria Surana!" Irving gruffly called the youngest student in his class. Most of the apprentices in Expert Primal were teenagers a decade older than her. They were all studiously taking notes while she had been gazing dreamily out of the only window in the room, high enough that it cannot be climbed even on chairs.

"Yes, First Enchanter?" Neria gazed innocently out her deep chocolate coloured eyes at him. For a moment, Irving forgot the reprimand that was on the tip of his tongue. Shaking his head, he moved to look at the notebook that was open on Neria's table. It was already filled with notes that he had just touched on. He wondered how she could have managed to write down everything so neatly and quickly when the others were still struggling and had to ask him several times for clarifications.

"Tell me, Neria. How is a Storm of the Century cast and why should it be when a mage is still fresh?" Irving asked while peering furtively at her notes.

"Spell Might, Blizzard and Tempest need to be cast together. Once the last spell to complete the combination is cast, it eats further into our reserves no matter that individually they don't cost as much." Neria replied without a pause.

Irving ruffled her beribboned hair. Wynne had brought back yards of Orlesian ribbons as rewards to female apprentices when they made achievements in the school of Creation or Spirit Healer magic. Neria, who proved to be very adept as a Spirit Healer, had won most of the challenges Wynne set out, much to the disgust of her older classmates. She had been almost as good as Beatrice and Wynne had shared that she believes that Neria would soon be as good as herself. Irving wondered how great her healing would be once she comes of age.

Normal apprentices were only proficient in one school of magic. Slightly more talented ones were competent in two. Talented ones were adept in three. Truly talented ones were skilful in four. Never in all of Irving's years at the Circle Tower or even in its history was there an apprentice who showed an aptitude for all schools of magic she was taught.

At six, Neria was already in Expert classes for schools of Arcane, Primal, Creation, Spirit, Entropy and Spirit Healer. Irving wondered how to keep her challenged in the coming years when she had already learnt everything there was to learn within the Circle Tower about magic. He would have to get Ines to teach her potion making. Perhaps, he could start her reading the various tomes within the library as well.

-0-

_9:16 Dragon Age, Antiva City – 6 years after Zevran (now 13) was bought by the Crows_

"There is no way I would be able to do that." Zevran declared hotly.

"Would you rather go back for an extended stay at Velabanchel?" Master Frediano remarked drily.

Zevran curbed his sudden compelling need to shiver. Tersely he gritted out "What has she ever done to anyone? Why would there be a contract out on her?"

"It is not our position to question a contract. Only to accept or deny it. I had accepted it thinking you would be grateful for a chance to give her a pleasant death. If you are not, I'll just get Taliesen to do it." Master Frediano commented in a disinterested tone.

"No, he will make a mess of things. I'll do it." Zevran's blood ran cold as he thought of what he needed to do. _Perhaps he could make a run for it with Marta. No, they will just hunt us down. I would not trust Taliesen to do this deed. He has no finesse for assassination._

He dully mixed up the ingredients for Quiet Death, wishing to give Marta a quick and painless death. It was inevitable. Even if he did not do it, another Crow would and they would even torture her just to make a statement before transporting him back to Velabanchel for punishment. He did not wish to go back there. He still woke in a sweat from dreams of what they had done to him in there.

He took to the rooftops and sped through the city arriving at the Moaning Marta just before dawn. Marta was just locking up when he walked out from the shadows cloaking him. She jumped then slapped his arm in reproach. "Zevran! You scared the living daylights out of me! What are you doing here? It's not your day off today. You don't look well. How you been eating properly?" She bustled around, tidying here and there but leaving the more tedious work for the servants to take care of later in the morning.

"Do you know if you have offended anyone?" Zevran questioned while lining his dagger with the prepared poison. "Anyone who would be affronted enough to hire a Crow to kill you?"

Marta turned around slowly and saw what Zevran was doing. He wanted to give her that miniscule chance to flee. However, Marta did not run away. Instead, she heaved a weary sigh and motioned for him to follow her. Going up the stairs and tiredly trudging to her room, she remarked rather calmly. "I have something to give you before I leave. Your mother wanted you to have it once you were a man. As I will not be living to see that day, I will have to give them to you now."

Zevran was flabbergasted. He did not understand Marta's lack of fear at the certainty of death. He did not even know that there were still items of his mother's worth keeping.

Marta drew a key on a chain from between her breasts. She kneeled in front of a huge trunk and unlocked it. Delving deep into it, she retrieved a carefully wrapped packet and threw it to him. Zevran caught it reflexively and unwrapped it inquisitively. Nestled within it, was a pair of gaily embroidered gloves with the finger portions cut off. On one side was stitched a proud halla with full horns and on the other was a bow lying diagonal with a stalk of deathroot. Zevran touched them reverently. They were made of leather as soft and smooth as a baby's cheek. He looked up wonderingly at Marta.

She shrugged. "I take them out every now and then to oil them to keep them supple. Didn't know when I would be giving them to you. Didn't want them to crumple to dust in the meantime." She rummaged further into the trunk and drew up a small bag that tinkled. Handing it to him, she whispered. "Take this and don't let those murdering bastards get their hands on it do you hear? These are my life savings. If you let those butchers have it, I'll come back from the Fade to haunt you. Well, I suppose I should sit or lie down to be comfortable. I know you won't let me hurt too much." Her eyes were suspiciously bright as she cleared her throat and vacillated between the bed and the arm chair.

"You know that I'm going to kill you and you are fine with it?" Zevran asked incredulously.

"If you don't, you will never be a Crow, Zevran dear. I sent you to the Crows thinking they would give you a better chance at life. After the numerous ways I saw them train you, I made discrete enquiries and I know that they would make you cut all ties to love. They teach you never to trust or love anyone, Zevran. I am a hindrance to your education. I represent trust and love to you. It was a matter of time before they decided to remove the deterrent. I have been expecting this day for the past four years. At least they waited until you were a little older before making you do this gruesome task. I would kill myself if it helped but I know they would expect you to do this yourself."

Tears started to fall from her eyes as she sat down on the edge of the bed. She drew Zevran into a hug and kissed his cheeks. "I made a huge mistake in selling you to them. The money is within that pouch. I never touched it. I am so sorry that in my ignorance I have subjected you to this harsh life. Promise me that you will survive. No matter what it takes, survive. Survive and love. Don't ever forget love. There will be someone out there for you. Someone who will love you simply because you are you. So survive, Zevran. Survive with love, never without it. Promise me this so that I will not die in vain."

Zevran swallowed around the lump that had formed in his throat before murmuring "I promise."

Grasping Zevran's hand which held the tainted dagger, she looked straight into his eyes. "Remember your promise." She plunged it straight into her heart. Her blood splattered on Zevran's face and something inside him broke irreparably.

_**Author's Notes**_

_Not sure if any of you would be interested to learn Wynne and Marcel's story. Anyone interested should let me know via a review or PM. :)_

_It really gladdens my heart when I receive notifications of people __reviewing__, adding me to their list of favourites and/or putting me on their alert list. Thank you all so much for your support, it helps to keep me writing. :)_

_I would also like to thank all the silent readers of this story._


	12. Memories of Orlais

_**Standard Disclaimer: Bioware owns all Dragon Age characters and in game content. I own the bits that are left.**_

**_Author's Note: _**_This is one of those chapters that earn this story its M rating. Consider yourself warned._

**Chapter 12 – Memories of Orlais**

_9:17 Dragon Age, Circle Tower, Lake Calenhad, Ferelden – 7 years after Neria (now 7) was found_

"When are you ever going to come clean about your time in Orlais?" Ines grumbled while sprawled on the chaise lounge that Wynne had shipped especially from Orlais. It was the only two ornate pieces of furniture in her room. The other was a dressing table with a gilded mirror that Wynne was currently sitting in front of going through her standard ritual of placing creams on her face, hands, elbows and legs in preparation for bed.

"You may not like the story, Ines." Wynne swirled on the little cushioned seat she was perching on. "It does not have a happy ending." Her eyes grew dark with tremulous emotions as she gazed unwaveringly at Ines. "There may also be some elements in there that you would not like given your current situation."

Ines' eyes grew round. "You are not getting away this time. Not after that cryptic statement. I have told you all about my promise with Greagoir. It's time for you to divulge yours." Ines tentatively asked, not wishing to probe in case it was still too painful for Wynne to speak of it. "Unless it's still too painful for you? If it still hurts, I can wait."

"Yes, it still hurts." Wynne swivelled back to the mirror, her eyes were cast downwards not meeting Ines' in it and fiddling with the signet ring she now wore on her ring finger. The mask that she had put on to face the world again was starting to crack at the love and concern in her friend's voice. Her voice was anguished as she asserted. "Maker knows it may always hurt Ines. It's like there's a hole in my heart where he used to be."

"He? I don't suppose you mean Irving?" Ines enquired, eyes widening. "There was another? I thought you loved Irving."

"Yes, I did. At that time I definitely did. But no, I am not talking about Irving." She rose from the lavish dressing table and went to incline on her bed. "It's a long story. I suggest you get comfortable."

Ines stared bemusedly at Wynne. Gesturing towards her current position on the chaise lounge, she drily remarked "If I get any more comfortable, I would be asleep."

-0-

_9:10 Dragon Age, Circle Tower, Lake Calenhad, Ferelden_

"First Enchanter Irving, I wish to accompany the Orlesian group back as Ser Marcel is still not ready for travel without a healer and Her Grace is anxious to return to Denerim. The Orlesian party does not have any mage with competent healing skills and have need of my skills." Wynne stated in a clear, even voice. She was very proud of herself in that moment. She would not give Irving the satisfaction of knowing that her heart was being torn into pieces inside.

One part of her wanted to rage at him, questioning how he could let her pursue him for eighteen years if he had no feelings for her. Another part just wanted to find a hole to crawl into and bury herself for all Ages. Yet another part that she totally did not recognise as herself just wanted to beg him to take her back, to hold on to their love. She clenched her fists behind her back and forced herself to calm down before she did something she would regret.

Irving looked up in astonishment from the book that he had not really been reading. His hands, which he had thankfully had the clarity of mind to hide under the table top, shook. "Is that really necessary? If it is, perhaps Beatrice could go instead. After all, you just came back. Why don't you take a rest and leave it to Beatrice?"

"No, it is my wish to accompany them. I would also like to see if Orlais would suit me. If I like it there, I would like to be transferred there permanently." Wynne continued in that level tone.

Irving clasped his hands tightly to still their shaking even as his mind raced for a reason to ask Wynne to stay. The only reason he could think of that would guarantee her agreement would undo the work he had committed to doing four nights ago. He cleared his throat before speaking but his voice still, uncharacteristically, came out in a squeak.

"Very well… If that is your inclination, let Beatrice know that she is to permanently take over your classes. Unfortunately, this would mean that she has to teach all classes for the schools of Creation and Spirit Healer. Assure her that I will see to it that she does not give more than two classes a day. We wouldn't want to overtax our sole remaining Expert Spirit Healer." He hoped against hope that this would be enough to give Wynne pause.

Unfortunately, it was not. "I will inform Beatrice then." Without another word, Wynne exited the First Enchanter's office.

Irving stood up to latch the door in a bid for privacy. He staggered back to his desk, placed his head in his hands and wept bitterly at the futility of his love and position.

* * *

><p>Wynne looked back at the Circle Tower where she had lived most of her life. Twenty one years was a long time for a thirty year old. She did not know if she would ever see it again and she wanted to commit the image to her mind. All the memories, happy, sad and angry, flew through her mind like a play of someone else's life. She would not regret her life here. She would seek a new life in a different country and hopefully, find what she had been pursuing in Irving.<p>

The moment that her treacherous mind formed Irving's name, her heart lurched in protest and tears started to fall unbidden from her eyes. She angled her face away from the others as if she was admiring the fluffy clouds, surreptitiously swiping her tears away. A plate armoured hand gently patted hers and she turned to see Marcel's concerned eyes on her. He looked torn and Wynne knew that he wanted to draw her close to give her comfort like he had in the infirmary. Unfortunately, they were not alone. Seven other templars and five other Orlesian mages made up their group. While Orlesians were more open with their affections, Wynne believed that they may still frown on a templar openly showing affection, however chaste, to a mage.

She made herself smile and turned back towards the fading landscape. She twisted her wrist so that their palms met and unconsciously sent a small pulse of magic to reassure him silently that she was fine. It was a trick within the Circle Tower that mages used to communicate silently due to the lack of privacy.

Marcel's loud hiss of breath and tightening grip startled Wynne out of her reverie. When she realised what she had unintentionally done, she risked a backwards glance at Marcel. His eyes were glazed and he seemed to be struggling with something.

"I'm so sorry. Are you alright?" Wynne whispered sheepishly.

Marcel cleared his throat once, then twice. It was after the third time before he could speak. "Yes, I'm… fine. It did not hurt if that is what you are concerned about." He gazed at her meaningfully. "What was that?"

"I was just telling you that I'm fine without speaking the words. It was something we did at the Circle Tower when we needed to speak but there were others around." Wynne peered up at Marcel through her long, luxuriant lashes. "You won't inform the order of this would you?"

"I'll keep it a secret, ma cherie, if you promise me something." Marcel replied very seriously.

"What promise do you need?" Wynne questioned curiously.

"Never do that to me again unless I specifically ask for it." Marcel declared quietly.

"That's a very strange request but I promise." Wynne frowned, more than a little confused.

_Good…_ Marcel thought silently. _Maker, how you test me. If she ever does it again, I don't know if I can resist ravishing her right where she stands like I have been wanting to since seeing her when I first awoke in the infirmary. It's like I'm still a teenager the way I react to her. But she hardly needs a templar pawing at her when her heart has been broken._

"Thank you, ma petite. I am greatly in your debt." Wynne just looked even more perplexed when Marcel patted her hand in assurance once more before withdrawing it hastily.

* * *

><p>In deference to Marcel's health and some of the more elderly mages, the Orlesians had deemed it easier and faster to travel mostly by boat. The vessel they were currently on would drop them at the inlet where Gherlen's Pass met Lake Calenhad. Thereafter, they would cut across Orzammar to Jader then take another ship directly to Val Royeaux. Wynne thanked the Maker that she had prepared some of Ines' potion for her sea sickness. She had already embarrassed herself enough in front of Marcel. It would be the last straw if he were to see her hurl her stomach contents in front of him due to sea sickness.<p>

The journey was much less gruelling than the one Wynne had taken from Highever to the Circle Tower. Not that she was not a good rider but there was something to be said about being able to rest and relax on a vessel that did not bounce or jot one's bottom, especially when inoculated against sea sickness. The close confines of the vessel also aided Wynne in getting to know the members of Orlesian party. However, old Sophie was the only mage friendly enough to do more than properly greet her.

"So… Why are you really accompanying us, Wynne?" Sophie enquired with a mischievous twinkle in her eye. "Ser Marcel looks to be in the pink of health, especially when you are around. You literally bring colour to his cheeks and light in his eyes." She tittered before her eyes widened at the bewilderment in Wynne's expression. "Ah… Poor Ser Marcel… You had no idea of his affections? Either he is doing a really poor job of making his case or you are blind."

"What are you talking about?" Wynne protested in a fluster. "He is like a younger brother to me."

"Ouch! A younger brother? You mean you don't even think of him as a man?" Sophie chuckled. "Oh, how unfortunate for Ser Marcel. He certainly does not think of you as just an elder sister. Have you seen how he lights up when you enter the gallery or when he comes on deck and you're there?" She peered intently at Wynne's astounded face. "You really should open your eyes and look, Wynne. Whatever it is you are running from, leave it behind and learn to appreciate what is around you before it's gone. If you don't seize the opportunity when it presents itself, it may just slip away from you and not be there for you any longer when you most wish to have it." Sophie smiled bitterly. "Ah… To be so young and so confused again." She patted Wynne on the shoulder before tottering to speak with another mage.

As Wynne watched Sophie, she caught Marcel's gaze on her. Unwittingly, perhaps due to the subject of the previous conservation, she blushed and started to turn away. However, something in Marcel's eyes caught her and she was unable to look away. Even with the distance between them, she sensed the heat in his regard. Her face grew warmer and Marcel broke off his conversation with his fellow templar in mid-sentence and strode purposefully towards her.

"What was that old gossip Sophie talking so spiritedly to you about?" Marcel asked. She had deemed it impossible but Wynne flushed further.

Marcel watched the colour rise in her cheeks in rapt fascination. His groin tightened as he imagined Wynne naked and flush with passion for him. _Sweet Andraste! Now I can't even see her blush without thinking lewd thoughts. I need to just keep away from her._ "Don't answer if it is a private issue, I don't wish to probe." He quickly turned on his heel and marched away in a fast pace.

Wynne found herself perplexed by the templar's strange behaviour. She really did not know what to make of it. _Surely Sophie was mistaken with her assumptions._ Her heart skipped a little beat as she glazed after the young, handsome templar who had offered her such comfort in the past five days. _And if she's not?_ Wynne shook her head, dismissing the disconcerting thoughts before they could take root in her mind.

* * *

><p><em>So much for being interested. <em>Wynne thought as she stared at the back of the templar occupying her thoughts as they rode through Gherlen's Pass. Inwardly, she grimaced and wondered if Sophie had gotten to him and discomfited the poor man with her misguided attempt at matchmaking. Marcel seemed to be avoiding her as much as he could even before they had gotten off the boat at the inlet.

She found that she missed his teasing and comfort much more than she should have given that they have only known each other for, Maker, was it only six days? _Less than a week and I'm already obsessed with thoughts of another man. Perhaps Irving was right. What I had for him is just a stupid schoolgirl infatuation._ She furiously blinked back tears. _No! I will not cry for him anymore!_ In a fit of pique, she drove her ankles into the sides of her horse and raced ahead of the front of the group.

She could hear shouts from the startled templars and caught Marcel calling her but she did not stop. Tears were running down her cheeks in spite of the internal pep talk she had given herself. She suddenly did not even care if she tumbled down the ravine. She just wanted the pain to stop.

Hoof beats were thundering towards her. In desperation, for she could not allow anyone to see her weakness, Wynne clamped her legs into her mare's sides again. Her mount took off as bidden, lengthening her strides to match the urgency in Wynne's demands.

"Wynne! Stop! What the Void do you think you are doing?" Marcel hollered, desperation clear in his voice.

_It's Marcel! It's Marcel coming after her._ Her heart lurched and her hands instinctively pulled up her mount. She slowed and swiped her hands furtively across her eyes, hoping that he was not close enough to see but had no way of knowing as she was blinded by her tears.

"Wynne." The plaintive tone in his voice told her that he had indeed seen her tears. He drew up beside her and gently turned her face to him. She blinked, hoping against hope to stay her traitorous tears. He dismounted and tugged her down into his arms. Her arms went around him intuitively and she laid her head on his cold breast plate.

"It hurts, Marcel. Maker, it hurts so much. Make it go away. Please make it go away before I drown in the darkness." She beseeched and wept distraughtly, her entire body quavering with sobs.

Marcel's arms came around her, tentatively at first and then tightened when her cries just worsened. "Don't cry, ma cherie. Please… Don't cry. I can't bear to see you like this." Frantically, he started making soothing motions on her back. When Wynne just kept on weeping, he desperately started to kiss the top of her head. "Mon amour, please you are tearing me up inside with your tears."

Wynne paused to gaze with incredulity up at him. "Why should it matter to you?"

"Why?" A harsh bark of laughter escaped from Marcel's lips. Pressing Wynne against him, he huffed out "This is why." and proceeded to crush Wynne's surprised lips against his.

Wynne was too shocked to react. She did not know if she should be pulling him closer, even though they were already in a very intimate embrace, or push him away. When she froze, Marcel's lips gentled on hers and he murmured. "Petite amie, let me in. Let my love take away your pain." Wynne gasped at his words and Marcel took the opportunity to slide his tongue in to tangle with hers, the world halted and all sound was silenced as he explored her mouth and she, hesitantly, his. There was only Marcel and her, their tangle of tongues, the kiss heating them up without any external aid. All else ceased to exist or mean anything. There was only bliss and Wynne's hands rose spontaneously to tangle in Marcel's light brown hair while Marcel moaned and hugged her even closer, disappointed when he could not feel her due to his plate armour.

_It was never like this with Irving._ As the thought broke through the haziness of her stunned mind, she gulped in shock and shoved him away as hard as she could.

They were both panting from lack of breath. Marcel watched her like she was some frightened animal that he was wary of startling. Unbidden, her trembling fingers touched her lips where his were so recently. She turned away from him not knowing what to say, wanting to calm her racing heart and failed to see the hurt expression that crossed Marcel's face.

Hands seized her shoulders and gently turned her around. He took in her heaving chest and dumbfounded appearance, hugged her close and murmured "Is he really so great a man that I cannot even replace him just for a second?"

Wynne shook her head in denial of him being a replacement or just an anything but Marcel mistook it for her answer to his question and let her go in resignation. "I apologise for imposing myself on you while you were so distressed." He intoned formally and refused to look at her. His hands caught her by the waist and lifted her as if she weighted nothing and settled her on her horse before mounting his. "Come, we should return before the others think to come and seek us."

Without a backward glance, Marcel wheeled his horse and galloped back in the direction of the pass and group. Wynne's mind was in too much of a turmoil to do more than follow him.

* * *

><p><em>What in the Void have I done? <em>Wynne's mind was overwhelmed with the thoughts of the kiss shared with Marcel and what it meant to her. Even though she had been sexually intimate with Irving, kissing him had always been a peaceful, gentle and sweet gesture of affection.

There had been nothing peaceful, gentle or sweet about Marcel's kiss. In fact, just thinking about it wreaked havoc on her senses. She remembered the feeling of wanting to melt into his arms and she had felt never, ever felt that way with Irving. _Is Irving right? Was what I had for him just a crush gone too far?_

She gazed wistfully at the subject of her swirling thoughts. Marcel had not spoken to her since the kiss and had avoided her as much as he could without it being too obvious to the others in the group. When he did speak to her, he was stiff and very formal, just like any other templar in the group. Her heart ached at his behaviour but she knew it would not be fair to him if she did not sort out her thoughts before she confronted him about the kiss.

She had left a letter for Irving just before she left. In it, she had thrown her pride to the winds and begged him to reconsider their love. In every village or hamlet they passed, she would press a silver into the courier's hand to deliver another letter with a similar plea to him. Now she did not know what to think. _Have I wasted eighteen years on an infatuation?_ Yet on some level she could not deny that what she had felt for Irving had been as real to her as the kiss that she had shared with Marcel. _So what is it? Is it possible to love two men at the same time? Am I a slut who loves any who kisses me?_ She snorted indelicately at that thought. She was starting to sound like Ines. How she missed her practical friend. She would have set her straight, mincing no words and sparing no feelings.

She looked around and found herself riding near the back of the group. Sophie had been observing her silently. Wynne shrugged inwardly and moved her horse nearer to Sophie's. Shyly, she asked "Senior Enchanter Sophie, I would like to seek your counsel on a matter."

Sophie raised a delicate brow. "Why the sudden formality, woman? Whatever you wish to ask, just ask. I believe I already have an inkling about what it is that is causing that perpetual frown on your face."

Taking a deep breath, Wynne's words came out in a rushed whisper. "Is it possible to love two men at once? If one makes you feel peace and sweetness while the other invokes fire and turbulence, is former better than the latter or is the former somehow lesser?"

Sophie raised both brows and cackled. When she finally caught her breath, she looked Wynne in the eyes and replied in a very serious tone. "We change, Wynne, we grow up. A baby only drinks milk, a toddler may take gruel but an adult needs a well-balanced meal of a variety of solid foods to live. They are all sustenance to us but at different stages of our lives. One is never lesser than the other at that period of our lives. However, I should think that an adult could not live just on milk alone and one definitely should not live on milk alone when there is other more delicious food around." She left Wynne to ponder on her words while she continued to chat with another elderly mage in the group.

* * *

><p>Their journey through the mountain pass to Jader was thankfully uneventful. Wynne would not have been able to properly concentrate on any defences with the way her thoughts were squabbling in her mind. Sophie's words had hit her with the impact of a sledge hammer and she needed to be sure that was what she wanted before she took action. She was terrified of risking her heart again.<p>

As they camped in a face of the mountain naturally sheltered from the winds, she searched for Marcel and did not find him. _He's very definitely avoiding me._ Her exasperation at this was so keen that she walked up to one of the other Orlesian templars and enquired on his whereabouts.

"Oh… He went to hunt with Adelard, Clotaire, Edmond, Gervaise and Louis." The templar, Juste, replied.

"He is supposed to take it easy on this journey. How is hunting taking it easy? Why was I not informed to examine him before he did this? If his injury relapses in a place like this, where are we going to find supplies to help him?" Wynne raged in full Spirit Healer mode.

Juste backed away from her ire. "He assured us that he was feeling very much in health."

"So has Marcel taken up lessons in healing that I was unaware of?" Wynne questioned sarcastically.

"No, of course he has not." The hapless Juste responded.

"Why then was his word accepted? The patient should not be allowed to say if he or she is fine. Only the healer can do this!" Wynne thundered. "He is to see me immediately… And I mean immediately when he comes back! Is that understood?"

Juste nodded meekly before the raving Spirit Healer. Wynne was a sight to behold when she displayed her temper. Everyone still in camp kept their distance from her as she fumed, setting up her tent with unnecessary force and throwing her backpack into it with blatant disregard to its contents in her fury.

She was worried sick by the time darkness had descended. Even though Marcel was fine on the outside, it was his internal injuries that made him still delicate. That had been the reason she had told him to take it easy for the journey back to Orlais. She could not believe that he would risk his own health like this. Her anger built up so much that when she saw the triumphant hunters returning with their catch, she waylaid him.

"WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU?" She bawled at him before, to her shame, bursting into tears.

Marcel stared at her, flabbergasted before murmuring softly "What did I do?"

Juste inched forwarded and hesitantly uttered "Apparently, you were supposed to get her permission before you could strain yourself by going on the hunt."

Marcel scowled. "I am not a child to be coddled. I will hunt when I wish to. I feel perfectly fine."

Apparently, that was the wrong thing to say as fire literally burst out of Wynne's hands. Marcel instinctively performed a Holy Smite that sent Wynne flying across the camp.

Juste stared at him in total astonishment "What did you do that for?" before moving off to check whether Wynne had been injured. Marcel watched in horror as Wynne struggled to stand before sprinting towards her.

"Wynne, I'm so sorry." Gingerly, he helped her up, bracing her against himself then hastily distancing himself from her. "How are you?"

"How am I? How am I? Why don't you smite yourself and find out? If you can't do that, get one of your templar friends to do it. Oh for Maker's sake, the one time, the only time, I managed to conjure a flame blast and I get smote. Damn, idiotic templar." Wynne glowered irately at him. "Come into my tent. I need to examine you." She snapped before entering her tent muttering indignantly. "Of all the stupid, annoying things the man could do."

"Uh… Can't we do it out here?" Marcel enquired hesitantly.

"No, and let me tell you the reason before you ask. Because you smote me, I cannot use my magic to examine you from a distance so I will just have to rely on more traditional methods." Wynne responded in a loud, no nonsense voice. "So unless you are comfortable getting nude in front of everyone, I suggest you get in here now."

Marcel flushed slightly as snickers and titters made its way around the camp. He crawled into Wynne's tent and sat sulkily in a corner.

"Well, aren't you going tie up the tent flaps? Or do you enjoy exposing your manly parts for other's viewing pleasure?" Wynne said derisively.

Marcel flushed even further and hurriedly tied up the tent flaps as directed.

"And are you waiting for me to undress you or you can do it yourself?" Wynne rolled her eyes as Marcel turned beet red and hastily removed his breastplate. "The tunic too, then lie here." Wynne patted her bedroll while she stared unabashedly at the muscles on Marcel's torso. Her breath hitched despite her anger and she hurriedly laid out supplies she may need if the irritating templar should have somehow injured himself.

Marcel laid down semi-nude on Wynne's bedroll and took a deep breath to calm himself down. The scent of roses and vanilla invaded his senses, reminding him of how she felt in his arms, tightening his loins and caused him to give a pained moan.

Immediately, Wynne's hands skimmed his chest, probing gently. "Where? Where does it hurt?"

Marcel hissed and grabbed her wrists to stop her ministrations. "Stop! Just stop! I'm… fine." He gritted out tersely.

Wynne's eyes narrowed. She placed her palm flat on his forehead and did the same with her other hand before switching around. "YOU FOOL!" She cried in a livid tone. "You're burning up!"

_For you, Wynne. Only for you._ By the time he pulled his mind out of the gutter long enough to understand that Wynne thought he had a fever, she had already taken his tunic and covered him with it. Unfolding a thin blanket, she covered and tucked him into it before looking at him sternly. "You stay here. If you move an inch, so help me, I'll… I'll…"

"I'll stay, don't get so agitated, ma cherie." Marcel sighed as if greatly put upon.

"Agitated? Agitated? I'll give you agitated your infuriating man!" Wynne rounded on him. "You are burning up, you just smote me so I have no mana and no lyrium potions to help you bring your temperature down. What's not to get agitated about?" She untied the tent flaps. "You will stay there or so help me, I swear I will get agitated enough to throw a fireball at you."

* * *

><p>By the time Wynne returned after getting a soup for Marcel, a piece of roasted deer for her own dinner and enough snow to last through the night, Marcel was asleep and starting to shiver.<p>

"Wake up, Marcel." Wynne gently shook him. "You need to get something hot inside you."

Marcel opened his eyes and sat up dizzily before eying the bowl of soup. "If I'm sick, should you not feed me?" He teasingly enquired.

Wynne gawked at him before shrugging and ladling a spoonful of soup and bringing it to his lips. Marcel raised a brow, opened his lips and drank, all the while gazing intently at her.

She continued, nonplussed, until all the soup was gone before pushing him down to rest on her bedroll again.

"I can rest with the others." Marcel struggled to sit up against Wynne's insistent hands.

"I am not about to sleep with a group of templars. I will need to monitor your condition through the night so you just lie here and be a good patient before I lose my temper again." Wynne glared at him and Marcel gave in. "You may want to remove your templar skirt, gauntlets and boots to get comfortable." Wynne stated reasonably while taking out small linen cloths and placing them beside the pot of snow she had collected. Marcel dawdled a little before deciding that he did not wish to anger her again and removed all the pieces of his plate armour and templar skirt before lying back down drawing the blanket to cover himself.

Unfolding one of the linen cloths, Wynne placed some snow within it and folded the cloth around it. Gently, she placed it on Marcel's forehead. She found his eyes regarding her fixatedly. "Shh… Sleep… You need to rest to battle the fever. My mana should return in the morning so you just need to last till then before I will be able to fix you right up again." She tenderly closed his eyes and stroked his cheek. Marcel's breath caught and he covered her hand with his.

"Why are you so good to me?" Marcel asked in a small, quiet voice.

"I'm a Healer. It is my calling to care for my patients." Wynne answered automatically with the standard response they were taught to give before nearly wincing at the coldness of her tone.

Marcel dropped his hand and resentfully muttered without opening his eyes. "Yes, of course. What else could it be?"

Wynne sighed and continued patting his forehead without replying.

* * *

><p><em>I must have fallen asleep.<em> The ground that Wynne was lying on was shaking. She placed a hand on it to steady herself and nearly cried out from the unexpected heat searing her hands. She came fully awake and realised that she had been lying on top of Marcel. He had thrown off his blanket and was shivering violently even though he was burning up. Wynne anxiously covered him with the blanket and tucked him in but he still shuddered from the inner cold. She frantically sought to pull forces from the Fade to heal him but her mana was still drained and her powers were still unavailable to her.

_What do I do?_ Wynne had never felt so helpless as a healer, having always relied mostly on her magic for healing. Thinking rapidly, she realised there was only one thing to do. She stripped him of his remaining clothes and her robes from her body. Plastering her naked body to his, she rearranged his limbs so that they were entwined with hers and she was securely in his arms before tucking the thin blanket around them. She caressed his cheek comfortingly and his tremors gradually gentled then ceased. Marcel heaved a great sigh, as if relieved, and tightened his arms around her. Wynne nestled comfortably in his arms and settled down to sleep.

* * *

><p>The smell of roses and vanilla greeted his senses and he knew he was having one of those dreams again. He had been having them since that incredible kiss with Wynne. The warmth of her body almost seemed real this time. His hands relished the smoothness of her skin as he skimmed his hands up her side and along the contour of her breast. He tweaked her nipple and gave a low growl when it hardened. He lowered his head to take the tempting morsel into his mouth and murmured his approval at the gasp of pleasure his dream Wynne yielded. Fingers tugged at his hair as he continued his laving of one then the other breast, finally squeezing them together to lick in between the resultant valley.<p>

The hitch in her breath urged him on and he moved one of his hands to the apex of her thighs and found her wet and ready for him. He groaned at the evidence of her desire for him and waited for his dream to end like it always did. He always woke up at this point, with an erection so painful that he had to guiltily take care of himself as if he was still a teenager. He had gone for the hunt hoping to work off some of his aggression but look where that had landed him.

He groaned out loud when a hand started to stroke his throbbing member. _What in the Void?_ His eyes opened with a jolt. When he saw breasts in front of his face, he was so surprised that he pushed them away with both hands.

"Good morning." Wynne said in a sultry voice.

Marcel smacked himself to make sure he was not still dreaming and yelped in pain. Wynne raised an eyebrow while still stroking him deliberately. He grunted in protest and firmly drew her hand away. She pouted, licked her lips and Marcel lost all the breath he had in him. _Waking up with a naked Wynne in my arms is literally a dream come true but what the Void is going on?_

As he made to draw away from her, Wynne pressed up against him. He groaned in frustration as her hands again snaked down his stomach towards his erection.

"Wynne, I'm a man, ma cherie. If you don't want me, stop this torment. Please." He hated the sound of pleading in his voice but he would give anything to end this torture.

She just wiggled closed and started to fondle his sac. With a frustrated growl, he forcefully put her aside and searched wildly for his clothes.

Lips trailed kissed up the side of his neck and he moaned despite himself. She blew softly in his ear and he violently shuddered with the effort to keep his hands to himself. "Wynne, petite amie, please don't torture me like this. I can only be a gentleman to a certain extent. This would try the Maker himself."

"What if I don't want you to be a gentleman? What if I want you to be a lover? My lover?" Wynne asked with the calm of someone asking about the weather. She wanted Marcel. She knew what her mind, heart and body told her. Seeing his tousled hair, solid muscles, hard stomach and huge erection only made her desire him even more in a very physical sense.

"Well, I'm glad you understand… What?" Marcel turned to look at her fully and lost his breath again.

"Kiss me?" Wynne requested. She did not have to ask twice before Marcel pressed his lips on hers fervently. She parted her lips, invited him in and, as before, the world outside ceased to exist for them. There were only lips, hands, gasps, hisses, moans and groans. When Marcel finally sheathed himself in her, he knew bliss like never before. He caressed her nub, determined that she should achieve satisfaction before him and when she climaxed with a soft cry, contracting hard all around him, he could no longer control his feverish thrusts into her soft centre and exploded with a loud groan into sweet oblivion.

* * *

><p>Fingers lightly stroking through Marcel's light brown hair woke him. Wynne placed a soft kiss on his lips, glancing shyly up at him. His heart was filled with a joy that transcended anything he had ever experienced and he unconsciously tightened his arms around her, wanting to extend this moment of simple delight.<p>

"Good morning, my… love." Wynne cooed, stroking his cheek and smiling hesitantly up into his eyes.

"Good morning, petite amie." Marcel drew her into a deeper kiss. He noticed her uncertainty. However, he understood it. After all, she had her heart broken just barely a week ago. He smiled when he felt her soft gasp as his fingers trailed down her back to caress the curve of her derriere. He drew his hand forward intent on pleasuring her when booted footsteps stopped in front of Wynne's tent.

"Senior Enchanter Wynne, is Ser Marcel in good enough health to leave? We could camp here but we fear we may get snowed in." Edmond's came through the tied tent flaps.

Wynne heaved a sigh and gazed longingly at Marcel before she uttered exasperatedly. "Yes, yes, his fever has broken. Give us…" She broke off on a soft moan as Marcel drew one of her peaks into his mouth and suckled. She glared at him but he only released it to twirl his tongue around it with a merry twinkle in his eyes. "Give me some time to pack up. You'll see us when you see us."

It was nearly noon before Marcel and Wynne exited from Wynne's tent. Sophie raised a brow and ogled suggestively at Wynne. She blushed and the elder mage chuckled delightedly.

* * *

><p>The rest of the journey passed in an exultant blur for Wynne. Throughout the journey, Marcel surprised her with gifts of mountain blossoms, wild berries and even, one time, a bottle of Orlesian wine. "Where did you get this?" Wynne enquired with avid curiosity.<p>

"Adelard has quite a number in his pack. I bought this off him." Marcel answered with a cheerful grin. "Shall we share it this evening?"

Wynne nodded, all smiles. Marcel was openly affectionate and it seems that Orlesians were very much romantics at heart. They only faced knowing smiles and light teasing from the mages and templars but no censure.

His love for her was a balm to her soul and Wynne thanked the Maker each day that they had found each other. Days were light, sweet and joyous. Nights were loving bliss and ecstasy. With no trouble at all, they reached Jader and stayed at the largest inn there while waiting for a vessel spacious enough to comfortably accommodate all of them for a voyage to Val Royeaux.

Marcel excitedly pulled her to a room and threw open the door. Wynne could not help the gasp of disbelief when she took in the roses placed decoratively around the room. There were even rose petals on the large four poster bed situated in the middle of it. In front of the fireplace was an intimate dinner set just for two with fragrant warm bread, cheese, sweet meats, strawberries and melted chocolate.

"When did you have time to plan this?" Marcel privately felt that the pleasure in Wynne's eyes was well worth the ludicrous amount the inn keeper charged him to get it all setup in time.

"Ah… That is my little secret, ma cherie. It is impolite to ask how the gift came about. It should just be enjoyed." Marcel's eyes twinkled with his signature mischievous twinkle that Wynne had come to love.

"Oh, Marcel… This is perfect!" Wynne exclaimed as she walked into the attached bathing chamber and found hot water waiting with sweet smelling bath oils and salts.

"Don't I get any thanks for this?" Marcel teased as he kissed the back of Wynne's neck and drew her close.

Turning in his arms, Wynne smiled lasciviously up at him and murmured. "I will just have to spend all night thanking you for this wondrous gift won't I? Have I told you how much I love you?"

"Well, you may have neglected to say it the requisite ten times a day today." Marcel joked.

"Oh, I did, did I?" Wynne grinned. "I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you." Each statement was punctuated with a kiss to various parts of his body that she could reach.

Marcel's eyes darkened with desire. He picked Wynne up physically, placed her on the bed and growled. "Let's have dessert first."

* * *

><p>At first when she spent the journey from Jader to Val Royeaux sick in her cabin even though she had consumed the Ines' sea sickness potion, she thought that she had somehow botched the recipe for the potion or the ingredients she had used were no longer potent enough for it to work effectively.<p>

However, when they arrived at Val Royeaux and she still suffered from the bouts of heaving and could not keep food down, Marcel insisted that she examine herself with magic and she discovered she was with child.

She was deeply apprehensive about telling Marcel about it. By Chantry law, mages were not allowed to have children and most especially not with a templar. The templar in question would most certainly be stripped of his position, if not executed, while the mage would be forced to abort the child from her womb.

Marcel sat beside Wynne on her bed, took in the myriad of emotions flickering across her exquisite face and frowned in concern. "What is it, petite amie? You are not dying from some rare disease are you?" He joked teasingly and paled when Wynne raised her eyes to meet his. The torture, uncertainty and helplessness in her eyes froze his blood. He could not imagine what would cause such bleakness in his fierce, free-spirited love. "Please, it's not fatal is it? We just found each other. I can no longer live without you, ma cherie." He ardently grasped her in his arms. "How bad is it?"

"Marcel, I'm… I'm pregnant." Wynne whispered brokenly.

"Oh is that all… Wait… What?" Marcel shot up from the bed, his face blanched in shock. Wynne closed her eyes in despair.

"I could get rid of it…" Wynne muttered even as her heart tore at the words.

"I'm going to be a father?" The joy in Marcel's voice was so clearly evident that Wynne opened her eyes in astonishment. As he noticed her previous words, his face grew dark with fury. "You don't want my child?"

"No! Of course I want our child. It's just if we are found out, Marcel. At best, they will throw you out of the order, at worst, you could be killed. I can't do that to you." Wynne stood and hugged her beloved fervently. "I will do anything to protect you."

"Ah, ma petite, you always do things the wrong way around. It is I who will protect you and our enfant bien-aimé." A ferocious look came into Marcel's eyes. "Nothing can keep me away from you and ours, mon amour."

"But how?" Wynne asked despondently. "I'm still small now but in one or two more weeks, my condition will be very apparent and the questioning will start."

"One or two weeks, huh? Well, ma cherie, you always did challenge me like no other woman did." Wynne could see Marcel's mind working feverishly. "We, of course, cannot be here when that happens." He grinned brilliantly at her. "We will have to elope."

* * *

><p>In the end, it had been unexpectedly easy to leave the White Spire and head towards Ghyslain where Marcel's eldest brother was lord. Wynne had been astounded when Marcel quietly informed her that his eldest brother was the Marquis of Ghyslain and loyal only to family. When Marcel had offhandedly remarked that he was a noble she had imagined him the son of a minor noble, perhaps a baron or a viscount. However, she realised that it all fit into how he behaved. His gentlemanly ways and noble bearing should have clued her in to his aristocratic ancestry. He assured Wynne that his brother would protect them from the Chantry when he learned that she was carrying his child.<p>

He had lied outright to the Knight-Commander and claimed that his brother was ill and needed an Expert Spirit Healer with utmost urgency. Thus, it was that Wynne and Marcel were provided with horses and supplies for the journey to Ghyslain with the Divine's blessings.

While Wynne was not showing, they would stop at each Chantry along the way to rest and resupply. When her condition became apparent, Marcel presented her with a silk dress with a scooped neckline, empire waistline and shirred detailing along the sides from his saddlebag to change into. He similarly changed out of his templar armour into an embroidered silk shirt, tight leather breeches and waistcoat. It was all Wynne could do to keep her hands off him. Their progress from that point onwards was slow as Marcel sold their horses and hired a carriage for the remainder of their journey.

It was also at this point that Marcel gave her a simple gold signet ring. Marcel proudly informed her that the symbol was the heraldry of de Luciens. He slid it onto her ring finger and was delighted when it fit exactly. He grasped her hands in his and declared. "We will probably never be able to wed in a Chantry, Wynne. However, with this ring, I pledge my life to you. I will always be yours and I hope that you will always be mine too. In our life together I may anger you but know that I would not mean to. I may burden you but it would not be intentional. I may cause you pain but it will surely be unpremeditated. I wish to share in your joys, your tears and your burdens. I will love and honor you always. Will you do the same for me?"

Wynne was too overwhelmed to speak so she nodded exuberantly and kissed him passionately. When she finally found her voice, she affirmed. "I will, Marcel. I will." Throwing her arms around him, she laughed as she had never done before.

* * *

><p>It was at Montfort when Wynne started to notice the quaver in Marcel's hands. She wanted to examine him but he laughingly assured her that he was fine. When he woke one morning blinking owlishly at her, fear blossomed and she grasped his face in her palms. "Marcel, what's wrong?"<p>

"Ah, belle demoiselle, I must have drunk too much wine to forget your name." Wynne took a shuddering breath, shaking her head in denial while Marcel continued in obvious embarrassment. "Yes, it is the gravest crime to forget the name of such beauty especially when it is obvious that we have…"

Wynne shook like a leaf while she took his hand and placed it over the small bump on her belly. "Marcel, you are scaring me. What is wrong with you? We having a baby, remember? We are going to flee the Chantry and the Circle to live with your brother." Showing him the ring he had given her, "You gave me this, remember? Just a month ago."

Marcel's eyes flickered uncertainly and glazed over. Slowly, he shook his head and when he finally met Wynne's uneasy eyes, he cursed softly. "Ah, mon amour, I had not wanted to worry you." Marcel murmured as he drew her into a kiss. "It is the lyrium. I am having withdrawal symptoms. They are more serious than I thought they would be if I could not remember you." He sighed and rose to dress. "I have to have some soon. Perhaps in the next town I will ride in and ask for some at the local Chantry by myself."

"Lyrium? I don't understand Marcel. Why would you need lyrium? You are not a mage." Wynne blinked in utter confusion.

"Ma cherie, how do you think the Chantry controls the Order of Templars. Them a bunch of soft women and us all hard muscles and steel? It is through lyrium. We are fed this mineral at the beginning of our templar training to give us abilities to control mages. It is ironic that we in turn are controlled through our need to consume this poison. The longer we are in the order, the more of this drug we need to sustain our sanity." He sighed resignedly. "I have been taking it since I was sixteen. My daily fix is now almost as much as a lesser lyrium potion. I had run out a few days after we started travelling by carriage."

Wynne trembled in shock. "Is there any way to quit?" She asked in a small voice.

"Unfortunately, petite amie, most of those who tried ended up insane. My brother will know how to get his hands on some lyrium. Perhaps if I took lesser each day, I would be able to kick this addiction?" Marcel smiled encouragingly at her. "Don't frown. You need to be happy so that our enfant bien-aimé would be a happy baby."

Moving to her backpack set on the only table in the room, she drew out two potent lyrium potions and saw Marcel's eyes glaze over with need. "Take this. I took this from the store at White Spire. I still have some lyrium dust left and can make more."

* * *

><p>In the end, they were three days away from Ghyslain when Marcel had consumed all the lyrium they had between them. He changed into his templar armour and kissed Wynne before going to the local Chantry to request for more with the official notice in his hands.<p>

He hoped that the Sister in this Chantry would be kind enough to provide enough lyrium so that they did not need to make any more stops. So far, they have had no trouble in their journey and Marcel was thankful given Wynne's condition. He wanted to avoid anyone noticing he, while dressed as a templar, was in the company of a pregnant woman. Templars do not protect anyone other than mages or Chantry clerics. Wynne was very evidently neither.

Sister Clarice looked up from the notice that Marcel had handed to her in lieu of explanations for his request of supplies. "You have a Spirit Healer with you? How fortuitous! Mother Victorine has been so ill for so long. Our regular healer is unable to help her. Perhaps you could get the mage you have with you to come take a look at her while we prepare your supplies?"

Marcel grunted in apparent agreement while his mind worked quickly and formed the only rational decision. They had to get out of here before they were discovered. "May I have my notice back then?" Marcel extended his hand for the manuscript.

Sister Clarice stared at him intently before handing over the document to him. Marcel smiled graciously, bowed and left as quickly as he could without arousing suspicions. He did not succeed. Sister Clarice had watched his behaviour with narrowing eyes before signalling the templar guarding the entrance of her office. "Ser Stuart, please follow Ser Marcel to escort the Spirit Healer here. Bring all your man, just in case."

Ser Stuart nodded and marched off to gather his men. There was only one inn that the visiting templar could put up in. They did not expect much trouble finding him and the mage.

* * *

><p>"Wynne!" Marcel called as he hurried into the room they were sharing and started to shove their any of their belongings left outside into their backpacks.<p>

"Marcel? What are you doing?" Wynne sat up from the bed where she had been resting.

"We need to leave now. The Sister wanted you to look at the Mother of the Chantry here. She is apparently sick and beyond the aid of their regular healer." Marcel tugged her off the bed and pulled Wynne hastily out the door. They were descending the staircase of the inn when Ser Stuart and his men entered the small village inn.

"Ser Marcel. Is this the Spirit Healer? I see Sister Clarice was overly suspicious in thinking that you would somehow not bring the mage to us." Ser Stuart stated bemusedly. Marcel was blocking their view of Wynne so the other templars were not able to see her pregnancy.

Whispering softly to Wynne, "Leave the fighting to me, petite amie." He focused his energy and released a Holy Smite on the group of templars gathered in front of the entrance and grasped Wynne's hand tightly before running towards the back one.

Groans could be heard from several of the templars. However, Marcel could also hear the sound of swords leaving their sheaths. He cursed softly and pushed Wynne in front of him. Kissing her quickly, he shoved her out of the back door with the hastily worded "We'll meet at Ghyslain" before drawing his own greatsword to defend his love from the encroaching templars.

He heard Wynne hammering at the door. "GO!" He roared as he rushed at the leader of the group. Through the clang of steel, he indistinctly heard the sound of the door opening and distractedly looked back to see Wynne re-entering the inn. He growled in frustration while instinctively parrying his opponent's strikes. He saw the horror in Wynne's eyes but could not turn around in time to defend himself before a dragonbone longsword skewered him from behind.

Wynne screamed in abject outrage and for the first and only time in her life threw a fireball at the hostile templars. She was immediately smote and she fell on her hands and knees for a moment before she desperately crawled towards Marcel who had crumpled to the ground and was lying in a growing pool of blood.

She pulled him into her arms and struggled to pull the Fade to her to heal the gaping wound in Marcel's torso but she had been thoroughly drained by the smite. "Lyrium! I need lyrium! Please! Give me lyrium! I have to heal him. He is dying!" The templars surrounding them looked uncertainly at Ser Stuart for direction.

"No, how do I know if you will use the lyrium to heal or to disable us mage?" Pointing to the templars who had been injured by her fireball, Ser Stuart furiously denied her plea. "We will not provide you any further means to harm others."

"PLEASE! He is a templar!" Wynne begged as she had never done before, tears flowing freely from her eyes. "Please…"

Marcel raised a hand to cup Wynne's cheek tenderly. "Mon amour, don't beg them. I will not have my proud Wynne begging anyone for my life." Blood started to flow out of his mouth.

"I regret that I can no longer be with you to protect and cherish you. I will miss the birth of our child too." He sighed and Wynne could hear how difficult it was for him to draw breath. "Take good care of yourself and our enfant bien-aimé. I love you, petite amie. I have loved you since I first woke to see you in tears over a man foolish enough to let you go. I'm glad that I, at least, gave it all I've got before I'm forced to leave you. Tell our enfant bien-aimé that I love him or her too."

He urged her closer and placed a light kiss on her lips, staining them with his blood. He smiled his last smile up at her with his signature twinkle in the eyes. "I'll wait for you in the Fade, ma cherie. Just don't come too soon? I'm sure you have other more important things to do with your life than meet up with an old lover in the Fade." He coughed, grimaced and gazed lingeringly at her. "Pourquoi pleurez-vous, mon amour? Déchirures ne sont pas pour l'un aussi belle que vous." His fingers gently wiped her tears away before falling into the scarlet pool.

"NO! Marcel! NO!" The ground started to shake with the magnitude of Wynne's anguish but abruptly stopped when she fell into oblivion after being smote again.

**Translations**

Ma cherie – My darling

Ma petite – My sweet

Mon amour – My love

Petite amie - Sweetheart

Enfant bien-aimé – Beloved child

Belle demoiselle – Beautiful young lady

Pourquoi pleurez-vous, mon amour? Déchirures ne sont pas pour l'un aussi belle que vous. – Why do you weep, my love? Tears are not for one as beautiful as you.

_**Author's Notes**_

_As requested by Sandrial Tsubasa and Corea and because Wynne and Marcel insisted on having their story told, here it is._

_I would like to thank Sandrial Tsubasa, Nocterayne and Corea for your continual support. Thank you. :) It really lights up my life to know that there are people out there like you who like what I write._

_Livinginwonderland87, thanks for placing this story in your list of favourites._

_It really gladdens my heart when I receive notifications of people __reviewing__, adding me to their list of favourites and/or putting me on their alert list. Thank you all so much for your support, it helps to keep me writing. :)_

_I would also like to thank all the silent readers of this story._


	13. It Matters

_**Standard Disclaimer: Bioware owns all Dragon Age characters and in game content. I own the bits that are left.**_

**Chapter 13 – It Matters**

_9:10 Dragon Age, Grand Cathedral, Val Royeaux, Orlais – 8 months after Wynne leaves Ferelden_

In the days following Marcel's murder, Wynne was lost in a wretched haze. She knew that she was being escorted somewhere but she could not bring herself to care about the destination. She ate when given food, drank when given water but other than that she had no recollection of where she was, who she was with or what she was doing.

She was changed back into enchanter robes, the dress Marcel had given her had been stained with his blood but she would not allow anyone to take it from her. When someone attempted to remove the signet ring on ring finger, she turned feral until she lost consciousness, clenching her fists, from simultaneous smites.

In the nights, she slept with one of Marcel's old shirts but could not find rest, often waking up screaming. The Fade was filled with pride demons that offered her power to bring death and destruction to those involved in Marcel's death. Those she still had the fortitude to resist. It was desire demons offering her the power to bring Marcel back that really tempted her. She knew that they were lying. No power could bring back the dead but more than once she felt the compulsion to accept their proposal if only for an extra year, month, day or even just one more hour with him. She wanted the chance to tell him how much she loved him. How thankful she was that he was there to help her put her heart back together. She had thought they would have plenty of time to learn about each other and plan their lives together but it was not to be.

Each time, she managed to refuse because she remembered that she was still carrying the fruit of their love. She would not do anything to endanger their child. So she ate even though she tasted nothing and drank even though she felt no thirst.

In one moment of clarity, she realised she was somehow back at White Spire. Sophie was washing her hair and she was in a tub. "We have to get you ready for your audience with the Marquis. He petitioned most fiercely with Her Holiness to meet you."

"Who?" It took Wynne a moment to realise that the hoarse voice asking the question was hers. "Who wishes to meet me?"

"The Marquis of Ghyslain. Ser Marcel's eldest brother." Sophie repeated for what seemed to be the twentieth time. It has been more than a month since Wynne was dragged back to White Spire by templars from a small village just three days away from the noble's seat of power but she still in the same catatonic state. This, however, was the first time she had spoken. "He wanted to meet his brother's murderess." Sophie continued hoping to jolt Wynne out of her trance.

"Murderer. It was a male templar." Wynne muttered limply.

"The Chantry is claiming that you killed Marcel, Wynne." Sophie declared derisively. There was no further response from Wynne. She had once again vanished into her inner world. "Oh, Ser Marcel. I just hope that your brother is not blind. He is the only one who can save her now."

* * *

><p>There was someone speaking to her while gesturing to someone dressed all in black. Through her haze, she saw that he had brown hair, deep chocolate coloured eyes and a face that was so familiar.<p>

"Marcel!" Wynne broke out of her reverie rushed to enfold her beloved in a tight embrace. "You're alive? How?" The man in her arms was struggling to free himself from her arms. She looked more closely at him and realised that while his face was similar to Marcel's, it was older by at least a decade and his hair was a much darker shade of brown.

Wynne backed away, shaking her head, "No, you're not Marcel… Marcel is dead…" Tears fell from her eyes and she collapsed, shaking from her sobs.

Renart de Lucien, Marquis of Ghyslain, gazed unsympathetically at the woman weeping so inconsolably in front of him. He took in her skeletal form, distended belly and shaking hands, suddenly focusing on her fingers. When he noticed the signet ring on her ring finger, he snarled angrily, stooped and grasped the ring, intending to remove it from her.

Wynne immediately turned savage, kicking out at him. "You will not take this. You have already taken his life. You cannot take the representation of his love for me." Tears running freely down her cheeks, Wynne blindly retreated to a corner. "You cannot have this."

Renart raised his eyes disbelievingly at the Divine sitting on the Sunburst Throne, "Your Perfection, are you certain that this is my brother's murderess? She seems to be overly distraught about my brother's death."

"That is the report I received, Lord Renart. Perhaps she had been controlled by a demon and is only now realising the magnitude of her actions." Her Holiness, Beatrix III, replied dismissively. "Even if she is apologetic now, she will still need to be executed for her crime. This is still within the purview of the Chantry." She retorted pointedly.

These words finally penetrated the stupor Wynne had been in. She shot to a standing position. "No! I did not kill Marcel. He was killed by those homicidal templars! They cut him down like he was some common criminal then smote me so I could not even heal him. I could have saved him if I still had my mana. They would not even give me a single lyrium potion though I beseeched them so that I could save him. But I couldn't heal him. I couldn't even accept any demons' help because he would have wanted me to protect our child. I couldn't save him. All my powers and I couldn't save the man I love, the father of my child…" A heart-breaking keen rose from Wynne before she, again, crumpled to the floor.

Sophie rushed to her side and gathered her in her arms. Glaring accusingly at the Divine, she scathingly remarked. "Yes, a demon would just leave after taking a mage over. How kind of it. Why do we need templars and Circles then? We just need to ask them politely to leave after all."

Turning to stare at Renart, she continued tentatively. "I know it is not my place to interfere but Wynne is in no condition to defend herself and if the Chantry" this was said in a mocking tone "had their way, Wynne would be the sacrificial lamb for their crime."

"Silence, mage! You have no permission to speak here." Her Holiness declared imperiously.

"No, let her speak. I wish to hear the truth." Renart stated in a firm tone that brooked no argument. "I will know the truth behind my brother's murder."

"I wasn't there but there is no doubt in my mind that it would be exactly as Wynne described." Her Holiness humphed in exasperation. Sophie resolutely ignored her and spoke directly to Renart. "They were so much in love. During the journey from the Circle Tower in Ferelden to White Spire, they found each other and had been inseparable. There are four other mages who will be able to testify to this. There were also seven other templars too but I'm not sure if they would be willing to testify." Sophie gently patted Wynne's hair. "You should have seen them. They were so sweet it is almost cloying. The joy in Ser Marcel's face when he was with her and vice versa. There is no way that I will believe Wynne killed him. She has been like this since she was unceremoniously dumped on us at White Spire. Only when you pursued the cause of Ser Marcel's death were we suddenly informed that she murdered him and that she would pay for her crime after the birth of her child. It's too convenient. They just don't want to admit that they murdered one of their own."

Renart thoughts were in a whirl. He did not know who to believe. The Chantry or this mage. _Would Marcel fall in love with a mage?_

"When I told him he was going to be a father, he was so happy… I told him that the Chantry may execute him if they found out and offered to remove it. He was so angry when he thought I didn't want our child. When he realised that I was only concerned about him, he offered to elope with me. He said you would take care of us. You would protect us." Wynne wondered dazedly. "He never told me that you looked so much alike. So alike… I guess the de Lucien family breeds true. Would our child also look like him?"

"That sounds like my brother alright. Always causing trouble and expecting me to aid him." Renart sighed and turned an accusing glower at Her Holiness. "Your Perfection, I demand a proper investigation to be conducted. I know my brother. If this lady meant nothing to him, she would not be wearing our mother's signet ring. She gave that to him on her deathbed to give to his future bride."

Wynne stared at the simple gold ring with the de Lucien heraldry emblazoned on it and fresh tears sprang unbidden to her eyes. "Oh Marcel… You didn't even get to tell me that." Her sobs filled the audience chamber of the Grand Cathedral where they had been gathered for Wynne's interrogation.

_What a façade this is!_ Frustrated, Renart turned to the elderly mage who was doing her best to calm the grief-stricken lady in her arms. "Can anyone testify that the child in her womb is Marcel's?"

Sophie snorted indelicately. "Maker, the both of them kept us awake night after night in camp after they finally gave in to their mutual attraction at Gherlen's Pass. They couldn't keep their hands off each other, there was no other for them. The child is definitely Ser Marcel's."

"Your Perfection, in this case, I want this mage cleared of suspicions for the murder of my brother. I do not wish a woman that my brother loved and cherished harmed in any way." Renart stated firmly. "I wish custody of her and their child."

"Impossible! She is a mage and will stay within the Circle of Magi." Her Holiness snapped angrily. "Her child will be raised by commoners and monitored by the Chantry. If the child ever displays signs of being a mage too, he will be brought into the Circle of Magi for education. I can only spare her life. That is the only blessing I can give."

Sophie sniffed impolitely. "Blessing indeed… It's a bloody disgrace what was done to these two lovebirds."

Renart's lips thinned, there was very little he could do given that their union was not legitimate. "Then she will stay with me and enjoy my hospitality until she recovers from the birth of my brother's child."

Her Holiness hesitated. Noticing Renart's impatient scowl and finally really seeing how devastated Wynne was, she heaved a sigh. "Very well. You may take her until she has recovered from her childbirth."

Shaking her head in apathy, she announced. "Clerks, note this. On this day, I, Beatrix III, decree that mages will not be allowed to marry. They will be discouraged from forming relationships either among themselves or with other citizens of Thedas. Any mage discovered to have flouted this rule will be made Tranquil or executed. The other party, if a templar, will also be executed or shall be fined five hundred gold sovereigns. If they are unable to pay the fine, they will be executed. If a baby is born of this unholy union, it will be immediately taken into Chantry custody. There, that should prevent the future occurrence of such tragedies."

* * *

><p>Rhys, a name Marcel had previously picked out if the baby was a boy, wanting his son to have enthusiasm for life, was born two months later at Marquis Ghyslain's estate in the centre of Val Royeaux. He had dark brown hair like his uncle but it was still too early to tell if his eyes would be Marcel's warm chocolate brown. Wynne only barely managed to whisper quickly to her son "I will find you. No matter how long it takes, I will find you. Know that your father and I love you very much." before he was forcefully taken away by templars.<p>

Sophie and, surprisingly, Renart were her rocks throughout her ordeal. Sophie would slowly draw her out from her stupor with her quick wit while Renart shared with her about Marcel's childhood exploits. Wynne's breasts ached with the pressure of milk that her son would never taste while her heart stung each time some small thing reminded her of Marcel. Gradually, she emerged from her lethargy and started acting like a normal person again even though inside she was permanently broken. There came a day when Sophie did not come to visit her at the estate at the appointed time. After waiting till sun down, Wynne finally stirred herself to go to White Spire and learned that the elderly mage had taken ill. For the first time in three years after Marcel's death, Wynne used her magic to heal again.

-0-

_9:17 Dragon Age, Circle Tower, Lake Calenhad, Ferelden – 7 years after Neria (now 7) was found_

"Two years…" Ines was fury personified. "You have been back two years and you did not think to tell me this. How could you Wynne?"

The bleakness in Ines' eyes caused Wynne to gasp in consternation. "I'm still hurting, Ines. This is not an easy story to share."

"When I told you about my agreement with Greagoir you didn't think to point out to me that the Divine decreed that we were no longer allowed to have relationships?" Ines smiled bitterly. "You always were a selfish bitch."

"You didn't know? I didn't know that you didn't know. All the Circles of Magi were notified through Sending Stones and missives. How could you not know?" Wynne exclaimed, temper rising at the unfair accusation.

"You forget that our Sending Stone was destroyed during the coup and it took them two years to install the replacement." Ines closed her eyes in anguish. "Furthermore, Greagoir is Knight-Commander. If he received any missive with information he did not wish to share, not even a syllable would escape from his office."

"Oh, Ines… I am so sorry. I truly am. I thought you knew but was brave enough to go on anyway." Wynne finished lamely.

"It would not be bravery but foolhardiness and total lack of self-preservation to challenge the Chantry on this when the Divine has already issued such a decree." Ines quickly decided. "I will just have to get transferred to where I never need to see him again."

"You are not going to confront him?" Wynne asked in confusion.

"To what end? He deliberately chose to deceive me." Ines remarked derisively. "I have been a fool for the past six years. I will not give him the chance to make a further fool of me."

"It couldn't hurt to ask, Ines. If it's just a misunderstanding?" Wynne suggested. "After hearing my experience, don't you think you should cherish any love you can get?"

"After hearing your experience, I can only wonder that a Senior Enchanter like you doesn't know to drink a contraceptive potion before indulging in a sexual relationship. Wynne, you are a Spirit Healer. You could have taken care of the issue and this whole debacle would not have occurred. You have damned all the mages all over Thedas with your indulgence." Ines' words of condemnation stiffened Wynne's spine.

"If you had created a child with Greagoir would you have 'taken care of the issue'?" Wynne asked sarcastically.

Ines shook her head slowly. "Point taken. But you should have taken contraceptive measures at the minimum. It was totally irresponsible of you not to. It's not as if you don't know the recipe."

"I was still heartbroken over Irving. I did not expect to fall in love with Marcel. Do you think I am some kind of slut? I don't carry contraceptive potions around just in case." Wynne screeched in frustration.

"If you had kept your legs crossed or simply listened to him and left for Ghyslain, perhaps Ser Marcel would still be alive today." Ines cruelly retorted.

Wynne gasped with outrage and pain. "GET OUT!"

"Gladly." Ines left the room without a backward glance.

Wynne collapsed on her bed in tears, her friend's accusations causing uproar in her mind.

* * *

><p>A month after that chasm appeared between the two friends, Ines summoned Neria to her room and informed her that she had applied to be transferred to Antiva and should be receiving the necessary authorisation papers soon. She hugged Neria and reminded her to keep an eye on Senior Enchanter Sweeney.<p>

Although both he and Ines were in charge of Herbalism in the Circle Tower, nowadays more were turning to Ines and Neria for any tonics. It was a well-known fact within the Circle Tower that Senior Enchanter Sweeney is slowly losing his eye sight due to his drinking habit. _Habit… More like problem._ Ines drily thought.

She also gave Neria a large money sack filled with gold sovereigns. Neria's eyes had grown wide when she nearly fell from the weight of it. Most people were wary of letting children handle money but Ines had full confidence in Neria and her bargaining skills. The child could literally charm birds from the trees.

"There are ten thousand gold sovereigns in there. Just in case you need to purchase any supplies that Irving or Greagoir won't approve." After Neria had graduated from all the Expert classes of all the schools of magic last year, she had joined Ines for intense lessons in Herbalism within her laboratory. Officially, they were creating curatives, restoratives and antidotes.

In actuality, Ines had been very firm about Neria knowing how each poison, venom and bomb worked to affect the body and created not only antidotes that removed the poisons and venom but placebos that only cured the symptoms and halt the destruction temporarily.

Neria had not understood the uses of these placebos until Ines had explained that, sometimes, you did not want to alert a person to the fact that they have been poisoned and suppressing the symptoms often meant that they would be too late in seeking the much needed help. The fanatical light in her eyes when she had clarified this appealed to the darkness in Neria and she became as enamoured with Poison Making as Ines.

Between them, they had been successful in creating many such variations to the standard poisons found in Thedas. It greatly helped when Neria realised that she was immune to poisons, a fact that never ceased to amaze Ines. No matter the potency of the poison or venom consumed, Neria would just suffer some slight symptoms but never the full effects and, certainly, never death. It made experimenting on live subjects much easier as Ines had not wanted to use live animals and had been reining in her enthusiasm for her pet subject. Ines, herself, was immune to certain poisons and venoms due to her continual exposure to them but she could only safely experiment on herself with those that she knew she was already immune to.

Of course, Irving and Greagoir would not approve if they knew. However, Ines was able to strike a deal with the quartermaster at the Circle Tower. He had been selling her supplies on the side at a steep rate that he would not have been able to charge anywhere else. Once, Neria had gone with Ines to get the supplies, it was then that she managed to convince the man to provide a discount due to their services to the public. Her ability to charm and persuade was truly a marvel to behold.

"If you need more, just write me. I'll send some via the next mage who makes a crossing." Ines had hoarded a veritable fortune from selling her potions. There were also the royalties from her herbalism book – Restorative Draughts: Creation and Distillation. "You know what. Here, take another sack." She rummaged in an open trunk before tossing another sack to Neria. "I won't be sure if there would be anyone travelling here soon. Just don't spend it all in one place, dear." Ines raised Neria's chin to stare into her eyes fixatedly. "Remember: waste not…" Neria finished automatically. "Want not." Ines had instilled this mantra in her from young.

Ines said with a feverish light in her eyes. "Just think Neria. I'll be going to Antiva. All those poisons that their Crows engineer are just waiting for me to concoct and detoxify. Those forests… I didn't get to fully explore them the last time we were there. I can't wait to start."

"I would like to go too… Ines, please don't leave me here. Bring me with you." The desperation in Neria's voice brought out its childlike quality. "I'll be good and help you like I always do."

"Neria… I can't… You have not passed your Harrowing and the Chantry is unlikely to assign two templars for a mage and her apprentice to go traipsing around the jungles of Antiva." Ines was torn. Her pride told her she needed to get away before Greagoir could make a greater fool out of her. Her heart wanted to stay with the child she had come to think of her own. Her own and Greagoir's. The irony of it firmed her resolve.

"No, Neria. I can't bring you. I'm sorry." She held out a leather bound book. "I wrote out all my potion recipes inside this book. It's divided in half. The pages starting from the cover with the sun motif detail curatives, restoratives and antidotes. The pages starting from the moon motif cover contain poisons, venoms and bombs. Promise me you will let no one else read this. There are experimental potions in there and you know how I make my notes to tell which those are. In the wrong hands, this would be destructive."

Neria tilted her head to the side to regard the woman who had been her mentor and surrogate mother since she had been rescued from the jungles of Antiva. From her tone, she realised that something was compelling her to leave. Ines only got that mulish look when she was about break down but was not about to let anyone see it. When she was younger and Ines thought her to be unaware, Neria got to see it quite often. However, after she realised that Neria was much more aware than any other child, she never broke down in front of her again. Neria knew there is only one person who could affect her so. _Greagoir._

* * *

><p>"Did you know that Senior Enchanter Ines is petitioning to get transferred to Antiva?" Neria archly remarked to Jowan in front of Greagoir's office. They were in the front entrance of the Circle Tower and Jowan had no idea why Neria had decided this was a good place to chat.<p>

"Really? Why would she do that?" Jowan frowned. "Senior Enchanter Sweeney said it was a land filled with assassins and whores."

"What? When did he say that?" Neria wondered. "I must have missed that class."

"Oh, he didn't say it in a class. He was drunk with the Feast Day mead that day." Jowan grinned. "Nearly burnt down the decorations, don't you remember?"

"Oh, you meant during last year's Feast Day celebrations?" Neria said after some pondering. "Anyway, she told me she should be receiving a confirmation soon." The last sentence was spoken slightly louder than the rest.

"Neria… A word in my office?" Greagoir called loud enough to be heard through the closed door.

Jowan gulped nervously and whispered apprehensively. "What did you do this time?"

Neria smiled triumphantly. "Nothing that would get me in trouble, I hope."

She knocked on the door and entered upon command. Greagoir was sitting behind his desk with an expectant look on his face. "I overheard you mention that Senior Enchanter Ines was leaving?" he eventually questioned when Neria remained silent.

Neria kept her fingers crossed and replied innocently. "Oh, you didn't know?"

"Maker's breath, child. If I knew, I would not be asking you, would I?" Greagoir retorted with frustration.

"Oh… I suppose not." Neria blinked artlessly and continued. "She raised a request to get transferred to Antiva to further her herbalism research. She mentioned that she should be getting the agreement from First Enchanter Alfonso soon."

Greagoir banged his fist on his table so abruptly that Neria jumped. "Sorry to startle you, child. That was not directed at you. You are dismissed."

Neria turned around before grinning wickedly. She prayed that Greagoir will be able to convince Ines to stay.

* * *

><p>Greagoir took some time to calm himself before rushing off to find Ines. He did not wish to put his foot in his mouth like he always seemed to do with her.<p>

He found her in the laboratory, head close together with Sweeney muttering over some papers. When he saw Sweeney's hand on her arm and in such proximity to her breast, a savage urge to rip out the Senior Enchanter's head defeated his efforts to keep cool.

He loudly cleared his throat. Both mages jumped, bumping heads and giggling like children. Greagoir felt the insane desire to decapitate the other Senior Enchanter grow. "Senior Enchanter Sweeney, I wish to have a word with Senior Enchanter Ines." He declared brusquely and when Sweeney just sat back expectantly, continued curtly. "In private."

Sweeney shrugged and turned to Ines who was watching Greagoir with a narrowed eye glare. "Get one of the apprentices to call me back when you are done here. This is very interesting. You say Neria helped you with that? She really has a talent for this, doesn't she…" Greagoir snarled before Sweeney could persist in rambling. He hopped off the bench, glancing between Ines and Greagoir before shrugging and leaving. Greagoir followed to close and latch the door after his departure.

"To what do I owe the pleasure of your presence, Knight-Commander Greagoir?" Ines defensively enquired.

"I heard that you were transferring to Antiva?" Geagoir asked without preamble, gazing into her eyes intently. When Ines flinched in surprise, he read her body language and muttered indignantly. "When were you going to tell me? Or you were planning to leave without a fare you well or by your leave?"

Ines looked directly back at him. "When were you going to tell about the Divine's decree that mages are no longer allowed to get married or even have relationships?" When Greagoir flushed instead of replying, she gritted her teeth and smiled a feral grin. "Exactly… You also failed to mention that you have an addiction problem. I guess that about evens out the score on not telling each other things."

Greagoir was utterly panicked. When he had first received the missive from the Divine, he had been completed devastated by its contents. He wanted to bring it to Ines' attention immediately, to see if there was any way to manipulate the situation around so that they could still be together. However, that was also when he remembered. Although he had poured his heart out, declaring his love for her, she had not acknowledged or replied in any terms that were equivalent.

He had been afraid, sure that he loved her more than she loved him and this would be the end of them. In desperation, he had thrown the notification into the fireplace. As he watched it burn, he vowed to make her love him enough to stay even if they could not be together officially. Each day he had worked towards that goal, helping her to take care of Neria, lifting heavy packages for her, bringing her late night snacks when she worked late in the laboratory. For all the little things that she allowed him to do, he stole kisses from her as a reward. Eventually, she did not even give him that allowance and stopped all intimacy between them. Now that the secret has been uncovered, he did not know if all his efforts these years were enough to keep her with him.

Ines watched the emotions play out on Greagoir's face and heaved a sigh. _He's going to make me stay._ Standing and brushing out the imaginary creases in her robes, she started to leave but he caught her wrist and both were reminded of that day seven years ago in this same room.

"Ines, won't please you stay, even if we can't ever be officially together?" Greagoir asked hopefully holding onto her hand.

"What made you think not telling me was a good idea?" Ines quietly asked even though she had not wanted to. However, part of her required that answer from him.

"I was scared… You never once told me you loved me. I don't know if we," Greagoir gestured between Ines and himself "matter to you. We don't talk or touch anymore and sometimes, I don't even feel we are still in love. So I just… I wanted you to stay so that I could make you love me as I love you." His misery was so evident that Ines' heart ached for him.

"Oh Greagoir," Ines caressed his cheek with her other hand. "Why couldn't you trust me? Of course it matters to me. How can I make you see that I do love you?" Despite herself, a tear rolled down her face. "This is impossible and a torture to us both. It would be better if I just left."

"Tell me. Tell me not as a question to me. Tell me directly that you love me." The anguish in Greagoir's voice caused Ines' to close her eyes but the tears continued to fall in spite of this.

"I love you, Greagoir. You are my first and will be my only man. There will be no other after you." Ines tenderly declared before placing a light kiss on his lips.

Greagoir enveloped her tightly in an embrace. "How can you say you have to go if you really love me?"

Ines gently extricated herself from his arms. "You know I have to. If I stay, we will be found out. Even if you are prepared to die for our love, I noticed that you have trained no one up to replace you. Your duty is here, Greagoir. Mine is to stay away from you so that you can carry it out." Her tears were falling in earnest now.

"No, no, no! There has to be some way." Greagoir exclaimed drawing her back to him.

"The ironic thing is if you told me earlier, I could have…" Ines shook her head. "No, there is no use dwelling on this. Let me go, Greagoir. Please don't make this harder than it is." She wanted so much to just weep in his arms but that would just be a cruel memory when she was gone.

"What did I do? Could you have done something if I told you earlier?" Greagoir shuddered with unexpressed grief.

"I don't know that. It may have been a possibility. I am, after all, an expert in herbalism. Perhaps, given time, I could have concocted something to rid you of the lyrium addiction, you could have groomed a candidate and we could have left." A cynical smile curved her lips. "Perhaps and could haves, that's all we'll ever be. If only you had not doubted me and deprived us of this chance."

"You could start on this now." Greagoir suggested optimistically.

"No, Greagoir. I have already received verbal confirmation from Alfonso that I will be transferred to Antiva. I am only waiting for the authorisation letters to arrive before I go. There is no valid reason for me to stay." Ines backed away slowly, her eyes bright with tears. "My passage is already booked and as soon as the papers arrive, I will send word to them that I am ready to leave."

"Isn't our love enough of a reason for you to stay?" Greagoir's hands shook with the effort it took him to restrain himself from reaching out to pull her back into his arms.

"How can we love like this? Don't taint it with stolen moments of lust or rushed moments of intimacy. What I wanted with you was so simple… A simple farm house where we could stay, live off the land, sit around the fire to read on cold evenings and a warm bed at night in each other's arms. I don't want a sordid affair." She tearfully grasped both of Greagoir's large hands in her slim. "Perhaps in another life, Greagoir. Perhaps in another life, we will be able to love without hurting each other and without others hunting us." She leaned forward and tiptoed to kiss him on the lips for the last time. "This is really goodbye."

She started to release his hands to leave but Greagoir pulled her into his arms again and kissed her as if his life depended on it. On some level, he knew that the part of his heart that loved Ines was dying from misery. By the time Ines came back to her senses, Greagoir had set her gently on the bench and silently left the laboratory.

* * *

><p>Neria was greatly distracted by the aura of sadness emanating from Greagoir. She knew this likely meant that he had been unsuccessful in convincing Ines to stay. She shook her head to clear her depressing thoughts and planted a smile on her face to greet the new arrivals.<p>

There were three of them. Neria was excited to see there was a girl almost her age. She had hair of a bright red hue that Neria had never seen before. Her eyes were grey and darting around, observing her surroundings. The other two were much older boys. The elder of them was an elf, with carrot orange hair and sapphire blue eyes; he, too, was looking around in curiosity. The younger boy was a human with light brown hair and hazel brown eyes. The odd thing was that he was clutching an embroidered pillow to himself and looking down on the floor.

"Hi everyone! My name is Neria. I've got good news." Neria giggled. "After you settle down, you'll be just in time for dinner." Sticking out her hand to the girl first, she continued enthusiastically. "I'm seven this year. How old are you?"

"I'm eight." Veness replied grinning at the smaller sized elven girl. "I'm Veness."

"I'm Aneirin and I'm fourteen. Are there many elves here?" Aneirin held out his hand to be shaken. "Where is everyone?"

Shaking his hand enthusiastically, Neria replied. "There are quite a few elves from the various alienages here. They are all still in afternoon classes." She turned to the last new arrival. He had not looked up or said anything.

Neria leaned closer and gazed up at the boy then theatrically down on the floor as if to check whether there was something fascinating to stare at on it. The boy's mouth twitched.

Smiling delightedly that she managed to get a reaction from him, she took one of his hands in both of hers. "Hi, I'm Neria. Who are you?"

The boy looked up and snatched his hand back. Neria pouted and cast her best puppy eyes at him.

"Don't look at me like that!" Anders exclaimed in exasperation.

"Like what? Like I'm hurt that you don't want to be friends?" Neria blinked as if to stop tears from falling. "Well, I can't cause I am hurt that you don't want to be friends."

"Why does it matter whether we are friends a not?" Anders asked irritated by Neria's antics.

"Of course it matters. It helps to see a friendly face around when you are surrounded by strangers, doesn't it." Neria persisted to tug on his hand and Anders gave in to let her hold on to it. She beamed up at him with a brilliant smile and he suddenly felt strangely comforted and a belief started to form that everything was going to work out fine.

"Well, are you going to tell me your name or do I have to go around calling you 'the boy with the light brown hair and pretty hazel eyes'?" Neria enquired teasingly. "That is quite a mouthful you know. I may make you bring me a glass of water to drink each time after I call you if you don't tell me your name now."

Despite himself, Anders smiled. "I am known as Anders and I'm twelve."

Neria looked at him intrigued. "Known as? So that's not your real name? Why is your real name a secret?"

Irving laughed. "Neria… Enough. At the rate you are asking questions, they will never make it to dinner. You know which beds there are to spare in the dormitories, get them to pick out the ones they would like to have then ask Owain for their supplies. Here is the authorisation form. I need to speak with Greagoir for a while."

Neria nodded and laughed as the three of them had varying looks of amazement at Irving's trust in the little elven girl. "I've been here all my life so even though I am younger than all of you, I may still make Senior Enchanter faster than all of you. Stick with me and I will orientate you on how the Circle Tower operates." With a mischievous sideway glimpse at Irving and Greagoir, she motioned the new apprentices to walk further away from them and whispered. "Even the things we are not really supposed to do." Glancing back with a cheeky wink, she escorted the three of them into the Circle Tower.

_**Author's Notes**_

_This chapter was inspired by the song It Matters to Me by Faith Hill._

_I would like to thank Leshyaedawnfire for putting this story in your alert list. :)_

_It really gladdens my heart when I receive notifications of people __reviewing__, adding this story to their list of favourites and/or putting this story on their alert list. Thank you all so much for your support, it helps to keep me writing. :)_

_I would also like to thank all the silent readers of this story._


	14. By Fair Means or Foul

_**Standard Disclaimer: Bioware owns all Dragon Age characters and in game content. I own the bits that are left.**_

_**Author's Note: **__This is one of those chapters that earn this story its M rating. Contains male/male interactions. Consider yourself warned._

**Chapter 14 – By Fair Means or Foul**

_9:17 Dragon Age, Circle Tower, Lake Calenhad, Ferelden – 7 years after Neria (now 7) was found_

Ines was ready to leave three days after the morning she informed Neria of her impending departure. Despite Neria deliberately getting in trouble throughout their last three days together, Ines neither reprimanded nor punished her. She knew the little girl was just seeking her attention and, frankly, she was grateful for the distraction she provided. She could not get Greagoir's last kiss out of her mind when she was alone and unfocused on any other matter. Perhaps, she could work on discovering a cure for lyrium addiction once she got to Antiva. Even if it would no longer benefit her, there may be future ill-fated couples who would be similarly affected by that stupid decree and could be aided from such a cure.

Kester was helping her load the small row boat with her luggage. She had accumulated quite a number of personal belongings and mementos throughout her years at the Circle Tower. In the end, she had to give most of them away as she could not possibly take them all. Not unless she wanted to travel in a wagon, which she did not. She wanted to leave Ferelden and the temptation to stay far behind. She assumed that she would be able to purchase whatever necessities she needed in Antiva. Surprisingly to her, almost everyone had come to see her off though Wynne was very noticeably absent. Neria stood beside her still holding onto her hand, tears freely falling. Dark clouds had formed over Lake Calenhad. Lightning flashed across the sky ominously.

Ines picked Neria up and enveloped her in her arms. Looking over her shoulder, her eyes met Greagoir's bleak ones as she gently said. "I love you and I will always love you. Always. Never doubt it. Write me if you wish to. I will always reply when I can. I hope you will remember me with the fondness that I will remember you. Who knows? Perhaps you may get a chance to visit me. I will welcome you with open arms." She broke off when Greagoir's gaze grew too hopeful. She had intended to offer comfort not false hope.

Neria sniffed and placed her dainty hands on each of Ines' cheeks. "You promise to reply all my letters?"

Looking back into Greagoir's warm grey eyes, Ines declared tenderly. "I do so solemnly swear this, my love."

Neria petulantly pressed her forehead against Ines' own, breaking the gaze held by the two adults, and whispered. "What about me? Or were you just using me to disguise your words to him?" Torrents of rain suddenly fell and everyone yelped in surprise at its cold. It was summer and rain should not have been so chilling. Everyone started to move in except Greagoir, Irving and the templar who was accompanying Ines to Antiva. Thunder crashed as if the heavens were split into two.

"Neria, calm down or it will begin to snow and they will start to suspect." Ines whispered urgently. "I love you both. You know that. If you write me, I will always reply." She kissed Neria's cheeks tenderly. "Will you look after him for me?" Neria solemnly nodded even though she was not sure how she should be looking at Greagoir. "Make sure he doesn't lose his sense of humour." Ines' eyes twinkled with mischief. "I will send new recipes for you to experiment on." Ines nuzzled the little girl in her arms. "You be good and don't cause too much trouble while I'm gone. If you urgently need to send me a message, you may use the Sending Stone." The last was very softly whispered into Neria's ears. Nevertheless, given her keen elven hearing, she heard it loud and clear. Her eyes widened in shock. Ines winked at her. The Sending Stone was supposed to be only used by Senior Enchanters to send urgent messages across Thedas or between Circles. "The spell to activate it is written on the back of the sun motif cover."

The sky cleared abruptly. The sun shone with a golden warm glow on the lake and Ines knew that meant Neria was as serene as she could possibly be given that she was leaving her. "It will probably take me a month to reach there so you will have to wait at least two for any reply, okay? Don't think it's because I don't wish to reply. That will never be true." Kester signalled to her that he had finished loading their luggage. Ines gave Neria one last hug, inclined a smile at both Irving and Greagoir and left behind her heart in the place where she had spent the last twenty nine years of her life.

* * *

><p>That night, a small figure crept silently upstairs to Ines' old room. Neria had awakened from a nightmare and she instinctively sought out Ines like she always did. Still more than half asleep, she had forgotten that Ines was no longer there to hold her. Fresh sheets had already been laid on the bed. The servants were very efficient at the Circle Tower. The room was just like any other empty room in the Senior Enchanter's quarters now. Neria curled into a small ball on the depersonalized bed and wept bitterly for the loss of her mentor, her comfort, her surrogate mother.<p>

* * *

><p>That first night away from the Circle Tower was the hardest for Ines. In the seven years since she had found Neria, she had never left her side. The young girl, being an Extreme, was prone to nightmares where demons made her numerous offers hoping to get her agreement to merge. Neria had been taught by Ines to always ignore them like the nuisances they are, never agree to anything and run from them if the temptation proved too much.<p>

At first, when Neria had climbed up three levels from the apprentices' dormitory to curl up against her, Ines had debated whether she should reprimand her and send her back. However, as Neria had fearfully whispered all the horrible offers those demons proposed, Ines could not find it in herself to leave the three year old alone.

The frequency of the offers increased after Neria passed her Expert level classes. Every night, she would curl up beside Ines, trembling from her nightmares. Ines wanted to tell her that she should be able to fight off the demons. However, Ines feared that Neria's control was not honed enough for this. Casting spells in the Fade could result in the same spell being cast in reality if the caster was not in total control of his, or in this case her, faculties. Ines hoped that Neria would grow to learn this soon so that she would be able to fight those pesky demons and finally rest well in her sleep.

When her traitorous mind started to think about Greagoir, Ines quaffed the sleeping potion she had ready for just this purpose and slept a peaceful, albeit chemically induced, sleep.

* * *

><p>They were here again. The tall, proud looking man and the petite, wildly attractive woman were smiling widely at her. Neria knew very well that they were not humans. They were demons. Ever since she was three years old, they had visited her. At first, it had been only every season. When she turned four, they came every month. At five, they came every fortnight. After she started her Expert level lessons at six, they came every week. Completing her lessons at the age of barely seven, they started coming every night.<p>

Sleep was something she could not live without. Her control on her emotions weakened when she was sick, tired or both. When she lost control of her emotions, her magic would get out of control. She had learned it did not matter if the leaked emotion was a positive emotion. It was only when she gave in to anger, fear, hurt or sadness that her magic was terrifying, even to herself, and it often hurt her or others in proximity of her.

Ines had been her sole comfort from the taunts of the demons. Curling up against her mentor every night after being startled awake by some of the more horrible proposals, she found peace and rest. However, there was no one here now Neria could turn to. No one who would wrap her in their arms and soothe with a lullaby that gave her rest. She was plagued by demons who offered her the power to leave and follow Ines without permission or fear of templar pursuit. She stood smiling defiantly at the demon that towered over her. "You know, if I accepted your proposal, Ines would be one of the first to strike me down."

The lady demon stooped to gather her into her arms and Neria flinched, stiffening in alarm. Her eyes narrowed when the features of the demon rearranged itself to look like Ines.

"Don't you want to be with me?" The demon crooned in Ines' voice.

Neria felt a huge surge of anger rise in her and pushed the demon away with her hands. "Don't you dare take her form!" Ice blue fire erupted from her hands and engulfed the demon. It screamed a single note of agony before the illusion of Ines' form fell away and it rapidly disintegrated into nothingness.

The other demon turned to the little girl in alarm. Neria's eyes glinted with unholy satisfaction. "Anything else to add?" It vanished without a word.

* * *

><p>Mages and servants were gathered in front of the door of Ines' old room. The acrid smell of burnt wood and something else was in the air. Greagoir and Irving pushed through the crowd to find Neria sleeping curled up on what was left of Ines' old bed. They could see trails of dried tears on her smudged face as she laid, still asleep, blissfully unaware of the devastation around her. Greagoir slammed the door in the faces of the curious bystanders.<p>

Irving raised a brow and Greagoir muttered brusquely. "We need to find out what is going on before they spread half-truths all around based on what they believe they saw. I swear the people here do nothing but gossip."

Irving humphed noncommittally and turned to survey the room. It, what was left of it, was as black as the Void from soot. All the furniture had been burnt into charcoal. Irving absently and lightly touched one of the blackened chairs and hissed in alarm when the chair collapsed into ashes.

Greagoir's eyebrows rose. This was the first time he had seen this level of destruction from a mage. What made matters worse was no one had felt any pull on the Fade that was surely necessary to fuel this act. Even if it had happened in the middle of the night, everyone in the Circle Tower, barring the servants, should have felt something. The fact that no one did would raise questions on how it had been done and who Neria really was.

"They are going to talk about this." Irving closed his eyes in a grimace. "We were too complacent just because she was such a sweet child. We should have taken more care in her education. Now everyone will wonder if she is demonic and fear her." Heaving a heavy, sad sigh, he bent down to stroke Neria's beribboned head. "Ines urged me to look after her while she was gone. Fine job I am doing. Just one night and she may be labelled a demon."

"You believe that she has not succumbed?" Greagoir enquired anxiously. He did not relish the thought of striking down a demon possessed Neria. That would be the nearest thing to being in the Void for him.

Shaking his head evenly, Irving glanced up at Greagoir. "If she did not surrender at three, do you think she would do so now at seven?" Lightly stroking Neria's cheeks, he murmured. "We should get her out of here before she wakes and becomes frightened over this."

"She has been visited since she was three?" That was the only sentence Greagoir noticed out of Irving's reply, anything after it was obscured in a daze of horror. Most mages never met a demon until they were Harrowed. Talented mages may interest demons at puberty. The earliest age he had heard of any demon approaching very talented mages were six. Three was surely too young for a mage to resist the temptations offered by demons.

"Ines gave me weekly reports on Neria's progress ever since she was brought here. She is now visited by demons nightly. Ines told me to ensure that she got her rest or her control may slip. I should have guarded her last night." Irving blamed himself for this.

"She will have to be made Tranquil." Greagoir declared firmly.

"What?" Irving gaped up at Greagoir, disbelieving his ears. "She is just a child!"

"Irving, look at this room! If she is visited nightly by demons and this is the destruction she can cause without them, could you imagine the devastation she would cause when she succumbs and possesses demonic powers?" Greagoir's voice rose. "It is the only way to keep her and others around her safe."

"Will you keep it down?" Irving muttered harshly. "And it is not when she succumbs but if. That is a very big if. Ines raised her to have a spine of dragonbone. She would not succumb any more than Ines would."

Greagoir huffed in exasperation, looked down and met a pair of bright hazel eyes with specks of chocolate in it. Drawing his longsword, he motioned for Irving to step away from the little girl lying calmly on the remains of the bed. Irving looked at him in dismay and moved to step between Neria and him. Roughly pushing Irving behind him, he angrily shouted "To the Void with you, demon!" and swung his sword to decapitate the little girl.

Immediately, he felt himself paralysed. Irving looked at him helplessly while Neria coolly sat up and faced him. When he saw her eyes, his eyes widened and he instinctively started to draw the Fade to him to fight the child in front of him.

"Not you too, Irving." Neria whined then gasped when she heard her voice. "What happened to my voice?"

Irving stopped his casting immediately. "Neria?" he hesitantly asked. "Is that really you?"

"Who else could it be? The Divine?" Neria drily commented in her new voice. It was sultry to say the least, melodious, cloying sweet but very adult. It made her sound years beyond her age which made the disparity between her voice and her body even more startling. "Seriously, why do I sound like this?"

"Are you feeling alright?" Irving continued to enquire, approaching her tentatively. He did not feel any demonic presence in her and relaxed.

"Yes, never better." Neria excitedly bounced on the bed which was unfortunately too wrecked to handle the abuse. It crumpled under her and elicited a shout of surprise from the little girl. Immediately, what remained of the bed was enveloped in ice blue flames and reduced to ash. Surprisingly, Irving was not even singed by the flames even though his hand had been on what remained of the bed frame.

Neria sprang back up from the floor, attempted to brush off the black soot covering her robes but only succeeded in staining them further. She frowned, looked at her hands in surprise and mumbled "I'm sure I had washed up before bed." She raised puzzled eyes at Irving. "What are you and Greagoir doing here?"

"Your eyes… Maker… Neria… What happened to… your eyes?" Irving stammered uneasily, wondering if he should be revising his initial assessment that Neria was not possessed.

"My eyes? What's wrong with them?" Neria looked around for the small wall mirror in Ines' room, finally noticing its condition, and her jaw dropped. "Maker's smelly knickers! What happened to the room?"

Irving winced, pained at her choice of words. The only thing that he ever had an issue with Ines teaching Neria was how the little girl picked up on the senior enchanter's colourful way of swearing. Now Neria, with that sultry adult voice, sounded so much like a brothel worker, Irving had a very hard time reconciling her little girl's body with that voice.

"Their colour, it's changed." Irving murmured tentatively.

"Oh?" Neria strode up impetuously to the paralysed Greagoir and squinted at the reflection of her eyes through the polished metal of his sword. "Oh!" She blurted backing away from the templar. "What happened to my eyes?"

Greagoir found himself released from paralysis. "Am I an abomination?" Neria's eyes brimmed with unshed tears. She looked up at him with her new bright hazel eyes that had specks in them the colour of her previously chocolate ones.

"We have to test you with the Litany of Adralla." Greagoir said firmly then sheathed his sword. "I sincerely hope for your sake that you do not respond to it."

* * *

><p>Irving went to get the Litany of Adralla from Owain while Greagoir stood barring anyone else from entering the room. Neria poked at the various pieces of blackened furniture in the room with curious fingers. All fell into ashes with a light touch. "Wow! Whatever did this was really powerful!" She exclaimed with awe.<p>

Irving rushed in with the Litany in his hands. Greagoir groaned. "Did anyone see you with the Litany?"

Irving blinked. "Err… Does it matter?"

"Of course it matters!" Greagoir rolled his eyes. "Don't you think the others outside of this room already have enough to talk about?"

"No one would be able to tell it's the Litany." Irving replied uncertainly. "I think…"

"Never mind that now. Just read it." Greagoir muttered brusquely.

Irving started to chant while Neria continued to skip around the room. By the time he ended, Irving was raising a brow at Greagoir. Neria had been totally unaffected.

Greagoir released a breath he did not even realise he had held. Neria turned to regard the both of them curiously. "Am I supposed to be feeling something?"

"If you were possessed, you would have felt agonised." Irving replied, rolling up the Litany and stowing it into his robes. "So what do we do now?" He asked gazing dubiously at Greagoir. Turning to Neria, Irving finally asked what he felt was the most pertinent question. "What happened to you, child?"

They had to understand what actually happened in the room then determine the best way forward. Even if they could cover up the destruction of the room, people would definitely notice and question Neria's new eyes and voice.

"I woke from a nightmare where I ran from the demons again. I was too sleepy to remember that Ines was gone and climbed up here to sleep with her again." Neria's lips trembled. "When I saw the empty room, I remembered then I…" Her lips firmed, she was not going to tell anyone that she cried but the two men understood despite her reticence due to her smudged face. "I fell asleep on the bed and they came again. One of them changed into Ines and I got so mad…" Her eyes danced as she squealed with delight. "I incinerated her. The other one fled after that. Isn't that great? I don't have to be scared to sleep anymore."

"You incinerated a demon?" Irving began, shocked beyond comprehension. He found himself thinking that it was a feeling he often got around Neria.

"You were approached by two demons?" Greagoir enquired at the same time with narrowed eyes. When Neria nodded, he mussed up his hair in frustration and met Irving's eyes. They both had the same thought. It was practically a Harrowing.

"Perhaps an accident due to Poison Making?" Greagoir turned to Neria. "Would you like to play a long silence game?" He asked with a playful twinkle in his eyes.

Neria caught on immediately. She grinned and nodded without speaking.

Greagoir patted her on the head. "You know this game well, child. However, the consequence of losing this game, Neria could be death." The little girl paled and gulped. "Winning means that you have fooled everyone in the whole Circle Tower." Neria grinned as if already relishing the victory. "We know that you are not possessed now. However, other people would not be so ready to accept two 'accidents' in such short order. Any templar who sees your new eyes and hears your new voice may react as I initially did. So you will have to bear it for a while and not speak to anyone. Is that clear?"

Irving silently applauded Greagoir for making it a game for Neria. She was highly competitive and did not enjoy losing. Neria nodded with a huge grin. She started counting out her fingers and gazed questioningly at Greagoir.

"If your voice doesn't change back, we'll find you a "miraculous cure" in a year or two." Greagoir grinned conspiratorially.

Neria pouted, shrugged then beamed trustingly up at them. Her stomach chose that moment to growl. "Unfortunately, you will need to be carried into the infirmary." Irving explained in a tone louder than normal. "You should know better than to experiment with such dangerous materials, Neria." Continuing in a whisper, Irving urged. "Keep your eyes closed and pretend to be unconscious." Before motioning to Greagoir to pick her up.

Neria nodded her understanding and closed her eyes, going into Greagoir's arms willingly. Irving opened the door and continued to mock reprimand Neria. "Really! Playing with Fire Bombs! What would Ines think?" Neria nearly laughed but stopped short, not wishing to lose the game so soon after it started. "I guess you have been punished enough given that you have hurt your eyes and lost your voice."

-0-

_9:17 Dragon Age, Antiva City – 7 years after Zevran (now 14) was bought by the Crows_

Master Frediano had been astounded when Zevran had calmly returned from Marta's assassination with no tears. The truth was that Zevran could not weep. The part of him that could cry had died with Marta. With her demise, he grew up. His only thought now was to survive and be the most brilliant Crow there ever was, whatever it took and regardless of what it took from him.

Evidently, Marta's assassination was part of Zevran's test for the Obedience stage of the Crow's training and he had, with direct participation of the kill, passed with flying colours. Thus, he was pushed up to the next stage: Wiliness.

Zevran was, as usual, the youngest in his class and the older boys resented his easy ways with words. Persuasion and coercion were second nature to the young elf. He easily balanced the two and understood instinctively when it would be more effective to use which and even when to use a combination of both. His good looks also stood him in good stead in persuasion as people tended to listen better to a handsome face and Zevran was growing up to be a really handsome young man, turning heads wherever he went.

He had taken to braiding the hair at both sides of his forehead before tying them back to keep his shoulder length hair from getting into his face while he was awake. The style, he found, emphasised his cheekbones and the long tips of his ears. His amber eyes made a person imagine that one was looking into the warm Antivan sun, never noticing its soullessness. The perky nose was a perfect complement to his pouty, kissable lips and many often watched his mouth as he spoke. Some courtesans in the district had actually offered to teach him their trade before he coolly declared that he was a Crow recruit.

He learned to weave tales with multiple elements of truth in them to make them sound more possible. Soon, Zevran's own trainers found it difficult to tell when he was speaking the truth or telling a lie. Eventually, even Zevran himself found that he could not separate the truth from the lie, especially when it came to speaking about how he felt.

It was barely a year since Marta was murdered. No, the more accurate term was assassinated. After all, the Crows did everything for profit. During this past year, Zevran had learned to school his features into an inscrutable mask. It was a happy mask. Even though he felt dead inside, he still joked and boasted of his first kill with his roommates. It was a great wall that he built up to keep others from seeing the scared little boy part that lay barely breathing inside him.

His roommates took great exception to his boasting about how he was also the only recruit who had an assassination kill to his name before becoming an official Crow. They ganged up to teach him a lesson but were easily defeated after consuming the wine left within their room laced with a poison Zevran had added. He had eaten the antidote before sitting down to drink the wine. His roommates were quite hasty in snatching the wine from him and consuming it all so that he could not have any before they attacked him that night. Taliesen was the only one spared as he had remained in bed not wanting to be involved. They were moved to another room where its occupants kept their distance from him.

After that fiasco, Taliesen developed a bad case of hero worship for Zevran. He was two years older than Zevran and one of Master Frediano's first few recruits. However, he was still very much stuck in the Wiliness stage of training. He was a quick and hot tempered human teenager who could not lie to save his life. He could only tell a lie if he was reporting something he believed to be the truth. It was because of this that Zevran kept him by his side. That and Taliesen's talents for lockpicking, trap making and disarming traps which Zevran felt would be very useful to him in the future.

In addition, Zevran found the way that he hang on his every word, whether it was the truth or a lie, comical and, somewhat, sweet. When Master Frediano assigned Zevran with the herculean task of making sure that Taliesen moved to the Seduction stage of their Crow training at the same time as Zevran, he simply weaved a tale to Taliesen which he repeated verbatim to the trainer. Thus it was that when Zevran moved up to the next stage of training, Taliesen was with him.

-0-

_9:18 Dragon Age, Circle Tower, Lake Calenhad, Ferelden – 8 years after Neria (now 8) was found_

Neria had not spoken a word for the past year. After she woke from her "unfortunate accident" with Fire Bombs, Neria's eyes were bounded with bandages and she was kept in the infirmary for more than a month. When they finally came off, she had been disoriented and everyone had been shocked over the change in the colour of her eyes. Her voice was unfortunately still damaged and she was pronounced to be mute until a miraculous cure could be found. It was such a pity that Senior Enchanter Ines was not around to assist in this.

The only ones who knew the truth of the matter had been Irving, Greagoir and Wynne. They could not keep the truth from her as she had been in the infirmary when Greagoir had carried her in. When she had examined Neria, she knew there had been nothing wrong with her. Turning narrowed eyes at Irving and Greagoir, she had latched the infirmary door and quietly asked for an explanation.

Even then, Neria did not speak up. She was not going to lose this game. She wanted to surprise everyone with her voice once they found that "miracle cure" as she was quite sure that it would remain this adult one.

Wynne had been appeased when she realised it was all a ruse to keep Neria safe and further added the suggestion for the bandaged eyes to add credulity to the lie. Irving slept on a separate cot within the infirmary each night and coached Neria on the necessary control for fighting demons in the Fade. Greagoir was also around to smite her when things got out of hand. It took Neria nearly a month to learn this, the longest time she had struggled to achieve anything. Once she was able to fight demons without burning the place down around her consistently for a week, they declared her well enough to leave the infirmary.

Everyone was fooled, even Jowan. Her new friends, Veness, Aneirin and, especially, Anders, comforted her so much for her loss that she was tempted to share the secret with them but refrained, Greagoir's warning pealing in her mind each time. Eventually Neria got used to not speaking, carrying a little notebook and pencil around to write down what she needed to tell others or using the secret magic pulse code she learned from Ines.

The hardest thing for her to curb was her laughter. Her new friends were a jolly group and even Jowan started to lose his nervousness in the group. The five of them were constantly in trouble as Neria had too much time on her hands and frequently got bored reading the books assigned to her by Irving. Whenever the others were in class and she was left alone studying ancient tomes that no one likely even knew existed any more, Neria would plan hair raising escapades, detailing them in her little notebook and showing them to her friends during meal times.

Anders was the one who really get into the spirit of things, even the most impossible ones. "How did you find out where they stored wine?"

Neria mimed walking with her fingers then pointed to the back of a servant. Veness gawked. "You followed one of the servants? Didn't anyone see you?"

Neria shook her head. Smiling brilliantly, she wrote in her notebook. _I tied my waist to the back of her belt with a sash and cast a Force Field then a Misdirection Hex on the Force Field. She couldn't see me at all but dragged me all the way there. Although she must have felt something cause she turned back to stare and shake her head puzzled quite a few times. By the time the spell failed, we were already in the cellar and I cut myself lose. I left before she could see me in the dark._

Jowan rolled his eyes. "Senior Enchanter Uldred will be thrilled that you are so enterprising about using Entropy spells. He was in despair with me today cause I was still struggling with my Weakness spell." Neria patted him on the shoulder to comfort him. Poor Jowan could not seem to find an affinity to any school of magic. Even though he had been in the Circle Tower for four years, he was still stuck in the Intermediate level of Fire spells and could barely cast sparks.

Aneirin snorted. "His classes always start with a recruitment campaign for the Libertarian fraternity. Half the time, I don't understand what he is explaining. At the end of a class, instead of going over what we learned, he launches into recruitment speeches again. I seriously believe that he places a Sleep spell on the templar on duty in his class. There is no way that every templar who is assigned to an Entropy class that he teaches would fall asleep."

Neria grinned. She wrote. _Maybe he is just really that boring?_

Anders wrapped his arm around her shoulder. "So when are we doing this?"

_Tonight?_ Neria looked up hopefully. Anders nodded and grinned. "Who's in?"

"No way you are doing this without me." Veness smirked.

"I'm in." Aneirin said simply.

"We could get into a lot of trouble you know…" Jowan started. Neria rolled her eyes, pouted and put on her best puppy dog eyes blinking up at him. "Damn it Neria. Don't look at me like. Okay, fine. I'll go. If we get in trouble and they ask me whose idea it was, I'm definitely ratting you out, you wicked minx."

* * *

><p>Late that night, Irving was roused by an amused templar and brought to greet an irate Greagoir with five very drunk apprentices.<p>

"Oh look! Hic! It's the First Enchanted! Hic! He'll save us from the big, angry templar." Anders fell backwards, cracking his head on the wall. "Woah… The ground is moving. Did someone cast an Earthquake?"

"Hic! It's First Enchant! Hic! Ter, you idiot!" Veness giggled. "Everyone's got… Hic! Twins!"

"Maybe we should… Hic!" Jowan had fallen asleep in the middle of his sentence.

Aneirin was too busy admiring a Spell Wisp he had cast to notice any of them.

Neria was all curled up around an empty bottle of red wine. She was smiling radiantly in her sleep.

Irving pinched the bridge of his nose and intoned as seriously and firmly as he could even though what he wanted to do was laugh raucously. "Take them to the infirmary. I don't think they will feel as good about this in the morning."

"You are letting them get away with this?" Greagoir roared at Irving like this was somehow his fault. "They should be given kitchen duties for a month, at least! They finished twelve bottles of red wine between the five of them. They are not even adults! This is highly unacceptable!"

Irving bit back a smile. "As long as they don't know how to heal a hangover, that should be punishment enough if they really consumed that much wine." Motioning for the startled templars to carry the five miscreants, he escorted them to the infirmary.

In the morning, the five troublemakers were not feeling so jolly. However, Neria was soon able to heal them all once she remembered a spell she learned from Wynne when she was six.

-0-

_9:18 Dragon Age, Antiva City – 8 years after Zevran (now 15) was bought by the Crows_

The Seduction stage of the Crow training was like a recap of all he had witnessed in Zevran's childhood. He had hidden in the secret rooms at Moaning Marta which Marta had setup for customers who liked to watch and observed the antics of the courtesans and their customers. He realised very quickly that it was one thing to watch and another thing to actually execute the actions on another person or have it done to him.

Yves, their trainer, was by no means an ugly woman but her sapphire eyes were as hard and cold as the jewels they resembled. It did not matter that the subject she was expounding had the roomful of Crow recruits shifting to adjust their tight breeches, she was totally unaffected. She could have been talking about the weather with the manner that she describing of the techniques to kiss, please, seduce and, even, torture victims.

That was what Seduction was for Crows. Never only pleasure, just a means to information or a kill. Teodoro, another trainer, would demonstrate the various techniques on Yves while she was laid out on high daybed placed in the middle of the classroom just for that purpose. Even while Teodoro was plunging wildly into her, she was clinically making suggestions how Teodoro could adjust his posture, stance and hold to provide greater pleasure to her. It was highly disconcerting to Zevran as the whores in Moaning Marta had enjoyed their trade even though it was a service they offered. This was totally impersonal and unemotional. _I understand the lack of intimacy but should there not be at least pleasure while accomplishing this act?_

When Yves proceeded to challenge each recruit to bring her pleasure, Zevran finally understood. Each recruit would falter, nervous about doing something like this in front of such a large audience. None of his older classmates had taken the lessons she provided to heart. By their turn, they were so aroused, each of them would just shove into her with minimal stimulation, coming almost seconds later.

When it was Zevran's turn, he was ready with a cloth and a basin of water. Placing the basin on the side table, he wrung the cloth of excess water and proceeded to gently clean Yves' body, lingering on all the sensitive parts that Yves had highlighted in her lessons. Her eyes slowly thawed and by the time Zevran finally cleaned her at the apex of her thighs, stroking boldly to remove the residue of seed from the other recruits, she was noticeably flushed and there was much shifting within the members of the class.

Zevran was still dressed. He remedied the situation by slowly stripping off his leather gloves, lingeringly tagging on each finger, shrugging off his boots and finally uncinching his belt and the various buckles holding up his leather armour. Shimmying out of his breeches still holding Yves' gaze as he had throughout the striptease, a gasp was heard from their audience.

Zevran noticeably straightened his stance. He was magnificently endowed and he knew this. His aroused member was long, thick for an elf and curved with a slight angle. He was hairless like all elves and smooth of skin all over. Yves smiled at him bemused and cackled. "This is how seduction is done, boys. Zevran has just shown all you louts how to start one. Get dressed, Zevran. It's time for your weapons training."

Even though Zevran was hurt by the evident rejection, he smiled and bantered. "What? The Great Yves would not allow me to complete the act? I am sure that I will be all that the others could not be."

Yves sneered. "I may be a whore but I do not allow elves to touch me. My standards are not that low."

"Ah… My lovely Yves… Your harsh words, they cut me to pieces. I am so torn up." Zevran theatrically placed his hand over his heart, even as he stooped to pick up the various sections of his armour. No one saw the cold hardness in his eyes.

* * *

><p>"Zevran!" Taliesen reached Zevran just before he turned into the area where the training rings were. Tugging on Zevran's hands, he pulled the reluctant elf into an empty weapons shed and closed the door.<p>

"What is it Taliesen? If we are late for weapons training, Leandro would tear a strip off us. Literally." Zevran leaned against the grimy wall and waited for the human to get whatever it was off his chest. He was startled when Taliesen crowded into him and started to pull down his breeches. "Brasca! What do you think you are doing, you crazy human?"

"Yves is a stupid bitch." Taking Zevran's still half aroused member in his hands almost reverently, Taliesen squatted to place a full mouthed kiss on it. He twirled his tongue around the tip and proceeded to suck hungrily. Zevran could not have been more surprised if the Chantry had announced that the Maker was a lie they concocted to control the masses. _Well, maybe I would be more surprised if they announced that... Brasca! Where did Taliesen learn to do this?_

Taliesen hummed in appreciation when Zevran grew under his ministrations. His hands were within his own breeches, pleasuring himself even as he took Zevran fully in his mouth. The sucking, stroking and licking combined with Zevran's previous frustration with Yves soon had the young elf releasing in his mouth. Taliesen drank every bit of it.

Turning from Zevran, Taliesen stroked himself quickly to completion before Zevran could recover and his seed spurted on the wall in front of him and down the front of his breeches. He looked up at Zevran with a content smile on his face, for all the world looking like an eager puppy. "Did you like that?"

Zevran nodded without speaking, rearranging himself, he shoved off the wall and exited the shed. He needed to get to the training rings to work off the need to lash out at someone.

* * *

><p>Yves was noticeably absent from future Seduction lessons. Instead, Teodoro began teaching them the finer points of seducing a man. In essence, it was similar to the seduction of a woman. However, the preparation of a man was more involved and required oils since a man did not have the natural juices of a woman's lust.<p>

Selecting a recruit from the class, "Come here, Beltrán", Teodoro proceeded to demonstrate as they watched, fascinated despite themselves. He begun by gently simulating Beltrán perineum with the pad of his index finger. Once the young man had relaxed, Teodoro lubricated his fingers with oil and started brushing it across his anus.

"Each time you brush across, increase the pressure steadily." Teodoro stated while show it with his fingers. "Slowly and gently ease a finger in." Proceeding to do just that, Teodoro continued "Men also had a spot which gives them intense pleasure, it is usually located about five centimetres inside. You'll recognise it as a chestnut sized bump." Apparently, he had found it as Beltrán moaned in pleasure and his previously half rigid appendage, stiffened.

Teodoro started to thrust his fingers in and out. The recruit squirmed, panting heavily. "Each or every other thrust should stimulate the spot to guarantee intensity of pleasure." With his other hand, he slathered his own shaft while thrusting a second finger in. The young human was writhing, wheezing with need when Teodoro eased into him. Holding onto the base of Beltrán's rod, Teodoro slowly and gently pushed into him. "Keeping a hold on the victim's penis will deny him of his release. This can sometimes be a good way to force out secrets from them." Increasing his momentum, Teodoro plunged in and out of the recruit causing the young man to plead. "Please, let me come. Please, I feel like I'm going to explode!" Teodoro raised a brow cynically. "This is just the first lesson. Now is not the time for your pleasure." He eventually ejaculated into the recruit, barely making a grimace or sound. Withdrawing immediately, he clapped his hands together. "Partner up and practise."

Zevran found Taliesen watching him with hopeful eyes, smirked and sauntered over. "You want to be my partner?"

"Yes!" The excitement in Taliesen's voice caused everyone to look at them. Zevran merely shrugged and proceeded to pass the class with flying colours.

* * *

><p>A month passed after that first lesson in seduction with males when Zevran was summoned into Master Frediano's presence. The Master was not dressed in armour for the second time that Zevran had ever seen him. The first being the time when he had shown up to purchase Zevran at Moaning Marta.<p>

Zevran bowed eyeing his Master warily. His eyes were practically devouring Zevran in his black tunic and tight breeches. "You had need of me, Master?"

Frediano leered at Zevran's choice of words. "Do you know? I have been a very patient man. Very patient indeed if I do say so myself." His eyes twinkled with malicious glee as he saw Zevran's obvious but quickly disguised confusion. "Lock the door then undress yourself."

Zevran turned to do as bidden even as he felt his blood turn to ice. In all the Seduction lessons, he had been the aggressor, he had a distinct feeling that, in this case, he would be very much the attacked.

_**Author's Notes**_

_I have no experience with male/male interactions so bear with me if I got anything wrong._

_Thank you Sandrael Lycura, Corea and cbrstrshp for your support. :)_

_Thanks to ibdemented and cbrstrshp for adding this story to your list of favourites._

_Thanks to ibdemented and Laughter Silvered for also adding this story to your list of story alerts._

_It really gladdens my heart when I receive notifications of people __reviewing__, adding this story to their list of favourites and/or putting this story on their alert list. Thank you all so much for your support, it helps to keep me writing. :)_

_And of course a thank you to all the silent readers of this story. :)_


	15. When Day Meets Night

_**Standard Disclaimer: Bioware owns all Dragon Age characters and in game content. I own the bits that are left.**_

**Chapter 15 – When Day Meets Night**

_9:19 Dragon Age, Circle Tower, Lake Calenhad, Ferelden – 9 years after Neria (now 9) was found_

Neria found herself stifling her sobs as the halla burned on the pyre the templars had helpfully setup for her. The gentle creature had finally died of old age and there was nothing that Neria could do with all her powers of healing to extend its life. She could not even give voice to the sorrow she felt inside as she could not expose the lie that she had been keeping for the past two years. With the halla gone, all the last remnants of her old life were gone.

Last year, a year after her "accident" with the Fire Bomb, Neria had approached Greagoir about getting "miraculously cured" but he had demurred, citing the Divine's crack down on blood mages as the reason for not letting her "recover" her voice. This year, they had just executed an apprentice who had become an abomination after failing his Harrowing. Greagoir had asked for her patience and endurance as all the templars at his Harrowing were on edge and should not be subjected to further strain. Thus, it was that two years after her "accident", Neria was still "mute".

Anders held her tenderly in his arms as she wept silently while Jowan stroked the back of her hands. Aneirin was looking distinctly uncomfortable with her emotional display, eyes darting here and there, as he silently observed the surroundings. Veness was patting her back, whatever was not blocked by Ander's arms, absently and frowning thoughtfully at Anders. When the fire had finally been reduced to a smouldering heap, Anders squatted and dried Neria's tears with a handkerchief. "Come, sweetie, it would not have wanted you go on so." He smoothed her beribboned hair comfortingly. "It had already lived five years longer than it would have in the wild. Remember that book you showed me?"

Neria nodded. One surprising circumstance of her "losing" her voice and stopping classes to study the books in the library was that she had become an avaricious reader. It happened very gradually, as Neria deviated from the books that she was assigned to read to books about the Dalish, Elvhenan, Arlathan, Tevinter Imperium, Antiva, Orlais, Orzammar, Par Vollen, Qunari, Seheron or about any other subject that piqued her interest. Irving did not discourage her scholarly pursuits and her fascination with the world beyond the walls of the Circle Tower grew.

"Come on, sugar, we should get in and have dinner before the greedy monsters inside eat all the food." Anders chucked the little girl under her chin. She wrinkled her nose but gave him an unsteady smile before turning to walk into the Circle Tower.

* * *

><p>"I could give you the power to bring the halla back?" The Pride demon said while watching her walk aimlessly through the Fade. Neria knew that she could manipulate the Fade into any scene she wanted but she preferred the clean, uncluttered look of the Fade in its natural state.<p>

"Pfft! Please… You think I would give up my body for it? I mean, yes, I love it. But seriously? Is it that best you have today?" Neria dismissively waved her hands. "Just leave me alone won't you?"

"I can't help myself." It followed behind her, eyes narrowed threateningly at the Desire demon that sought to cross her path. The lesser demon shrugged her shoulders and went to look for greener pastures not occupied by such a formidable foe.

"What? Do you love me?" Neria joked, paused then whirled to face the Pride demon that had been hounding her dreams constantly for the past two years. "That cannot happen right? I mean demons cannot love?"

"I do not know this love that you speak of." It replied, puzzled by her choice of words. "I merely wish to have the greatest prize ever seen in the Fade barring the Old Gods."

"You can approach the Old Gods in the Fade?" Neria asked with avid curiosity. She had read about them in both the Chant of Light and the Grey Warden chronicles.

"Unfortunately, they are in deep slumber and may not be roused." It answered evenly. "Thus, they are of no use to us."

"Why do you need my body anyway?" Neria questioned. "With your powers, you should be able to leave the Fade anywhere the Veil is thin, right?"

"Alas, our ability to manipulate your world is limited in our form." It responded evenly. "We need a body in order to better channel our abilities. A mage is the best vessel."

"Well, you will have to do better than what you have been offering for me to willingly be a vase." Neria teased.

"What would appeal to you? Power?"

"Pfft? I'm nine years old what would I do with power?"

"Love?"

"Hello? Nine year old mage? Mages aren't allowed to love you know?"

"Family?"

"Everyone in the Circle Tower is my family. I really don't need any more relatives to give me a headache that I do not need."

"Freedom?"

Neria paused. "Freedom to do what? I have the most freedom granted to any mage in the Circle Tower having already finished all my magic training."

The Pride demon sensed the lie and pounced. "The freedom to leave and not be hunted?"

"I think that is pretty weak." Neria replied with laughter in her voice. "I strongly doubt that the templars will let an abomination run free in the land." She sighed. This was a game they played nightly. It would throw out half-hearted taunts and she would jokingly consider them. After the night of her "accident", the Pride demon had been very careful not to raise her ire.

It sighed, stretching out the arms of the man whose form it was fond of assuming. "Nearly dawn. Do you want to wake up or laze in today?"

"I think I will laze in. I could use the excuse of being excessively sad due to the halla's death to miss this morning Chantry session." Neria yawned. "Goodness! Just thinking about it makes me tired."

"That is pretty impious of you." The Pride demon said with an even tone.

"Oh, don't get me wrong. I believe in the Maker and can probably recite the Chant of Light backwards but all that 'Magic exists to serve man, and never to rule over him. Foul and corrupt are they who have taken His gift and turned it against His children. They shall be named Maleficar, accursed ones. They shall find no rest in this world or beyond.' rubbish? Pfft! Just seems to be too much of an overstatement to me." Neria sighed. "I just enjoy being here and being able to talk. You know that I can't when awake. Greagoir has not allowed me to 'recover' my voice yet."

"I find this deceit unnecessary." It stated with conviction. "Your voice is lovely."

"Pity it's the voice of a much older me." Neria tilted her head at the demon. "You know, you are pretty reasonable for a Pride demon. The books went on and on about how you are the most fearsome of all the demons and how intelligent your kind is."

"Oh?" The Pride demon noticeably straightened with arrogance. "There are books about us?"

"Of course there are! Although, most of them are just full of warnings against making friends with demons." Neria turned around again. "Is that what we are?"

"Friends?" The Pride demon was intrigued. "I do not know of that concept."

"No? I noticed that you have been warning other demons away from me." Neria pointed out in her frank way. "I thought you might be… Well, that you might have come to care for me in some way."

"I…" The Pride demon did not know what to make of this line of questioning. "I have no concept of such human emotions." Shaking its head, it continued. "I'm merely warning them off my claim."

Neria raised a brow. "You don't own me."

"Not yet. But I will." The Pride demon stated with certainty.

"Well, I would wish you luck with that if it would not be counterproductive to my continual wellbeing." Neria chuckled at the bewildered look on the Pride demon's face. "Do you have a name?"

"A name? I'm Pride." It looked utterly confused at this point.

Neria rolled her eyes. "You and how many hundreds of you?"

"I believe that there are many tens of thousands of Pride demons if that is your question." The Pride demon replied, clearly baffled.

"Since you are my personal Pride demon, do I get to name you?" Neria asked, looking up at it with her signature puppy dog eyes.

"I…" The pride demon paused. "Why are you looking at me that way?"

"It's something I do to get my way." Neria continued to direct that pleading look at it. "Is it working?"

"I…" The Pride demon stuttered before heaving a reluctant sigh. "What do you wish to call me?"

"Hmm…" Neria tapped her chin as if thinking hard even though she had long found the perfect name. "Beolagh?"

"Beolagh." It considered thoughtfully before glancing at her guileless face. "I like it. You may call me that."

Neria flashed a brilliant smile at the Pride demon and smothered the laugh that was threatening to escape her. "Beolagh it is then." She woke herself before he could say anything further. _I wonder whether it will get angry if it ever finds out that Beolagh means foolish pride._

-0-

_9:19 Dragon Age, Antiva City – 9 years after Zevran (now 16) was bought by the Crows_

Zevran had thought that the humiliation and pain Master Frediano took in sodomising him was bad. The Master had not even taken the time to prepare him but roughly shoved into him like he was some hole in a wall. He had to seek a healer afterwards due to the discomfort and was told that it was fortunate he did, otherwise, he might not have been able to properly discharge his waste in the future. Thereafter, every time Master Frediano summoned him, Zevran made sure that he prepared himself sufficiently to prevent injury. The Master had been delighted at his foresight thinking it to be acquiescence to their interactions.

After they started lessons on dominance, bondage and other forms of torture, he found himself beginning to enjoy performing the acts and having them performed on him. He had never understood why the whores at Moaning Marta had moaned with such ecstasy when restrained, whipped or cut but experiencing it himself, gave him an added perspective. It appealed to a side of him that sought control and the freedom of losing it. It was his mood or the person he was with that changed his standpoint and as with everything else, he was very flexible. It was sheer pleasure whichever way he found himself in. After all, the possibility of him dying young was a very real prospect. He should take his pleasures when and where he could.

Once that became his philosophy for life, Zevran easily sailed through the Seduction stage of the Crow's training. He faced humiliation with a ready smile and relished the pleasure that pain brought, earning him the title of man-whore among the recruits. It did not faze him but only encouraged him to widen his boundaries further. After all, he now had a reputation to keep up. The parts of him that might have given a damn were locked behind the thick walls he had built up around his other self and the key thrown away. Zevran deemed it unlikely that they will ever escape given his incredible lack of skills in lockpicking.

He had passed the Seduction stage of Crow training by seducing and extracting information from a target's own sister. The victim had naïvely thought that he could hide from the Crows in a distant relative's remote country house. Zevran had been sent in disguised as a servant in his sister's household. He had caught the eye of the old matriarch within a day. With a week, he had insinuated himself into her trusted circle and was sent to deliver a weekly allowance and message to the target. He never returned and the Crows received the full payment for the contract.

Seducing a woman old enough to be his grandmother was certainly an experience for Zevran. He was only able to complete the act, no pun intended, as he had felt sorry for the old lady. He had mocked himself over it after that. After all, the old matron was rich, politically connected and still quite handsome. She was only very lonely. It was a lovely problem to have, far more so than most of the people living from hand to mouth in the slums.

Once all the stages of his training were completed, Zevran had requested to be immediately put through the trials that granted him full Crow status. Master Frediano had refused initially, claiming that he was too young to survive the trials and needed additional training. However, after several very vigorous rounds of sex, Zevran succeeded in persuading him.

The initial trials were simplistic, he had thought, merely requiring a recruit to plan and execute a mission as if he was already a Crow. His mission was to eradicate a Senior Enchanter who had stepped on one too many toes. Extra points would be given if he managed to eliminate him using Chantry resources.

Perching on a ledge high enough to see into the mage's quarters but shadowed so no one saw him, Zevran was randomly disturbed by swarms of insects released by mages in the employ of the Guildmaster, poisonous snakes, scorpions, poisoned arrows, bolts and daggers. It was, well, not to put too fine a point to it, irritating and painful. It was what they were meant to do. Irritate or distract enough so that he would give away his position. However, Zevran made not even a hiss of pain each time. Stoically taking antidotes or slapping on health poultices while focusing on the target, Zevran was too engrossed in learning all that he could of the target.

Eventually, to evade the continued random attacks, Zevran disguised as a servant and ingratiated himself to the head housekeeper within the Antivan Circle. It was a mere matter of days observing the target's interaction with others that Zevran came up with his plan. He stole a poison created by one of the target's new colleague, with whom he had an extremely hostile relationship.

Using it on a templar he had witnessed in a very compromising position with a much too young mage, Zevran waited for the colleague to raise the hue and cry over her lost poison before allowing the discovery of templar's body. The poison was eventually found within the target's possessions and the Chantry had him executed. That part of his trials, Zevran passed with flying colours.

It was the endurance trials that started to cause disquiet in Zevran. He was brought to Velabanchel for this part of the trials and he could still remember his previous stay with unease. However, he alleviated his foreboding by reassuring himself that he was different now. After all, he found pleasure in pain now. How difficult could the tortures be?

After a week in a hole in the ground with no more room than to stand, water and food randomly thrown down that were sometimes poisoned and sometimes not, Zevran was beyond exhaustion and was starting to have serious doubts about the pleasure in pain theory he had motivated himself with. He wanted to just wolf down the food provided but knew that it could mean the end of him. So he carefully sniffed everything suspiciously before consumption.

Although he kept as still as he could, flexing and shifting muscles to keep from cramping, he still managed to get scratched by the sharpened spikes all around. It was either the hole had shrunk since he was here two years ago, his torturers had placed him into a smaller one than before or he had grown. In his feverish state, he would not put it past those evil bastards to have placed him in the smallest hole they could find.

Eventually, after an indeterminable time, they finally removed him from that hole in the ground. Zevran was feverish and there were pus on his multiple lacerations. They allowed him a bath and a healer and Zevran actually was still naïve enough to think that was the end of it.

He was never more wrong. He was escorted into a room with two men and made to strip down to his smallclothes. Manacled to the wall and facing inwards, he was not prepared for that first whiplash but still managed to hiss with pleasure that was now his instinctive reaction to pain. His torturers had been amused and sneered that his reputation of being a man-whore was well earned when they saw that he grew rigid with need.

With no prior preparation or agreement, they tied a sash on his member while taking their pleasure on him. Zevran had never felt so close to explosion and wept for release. When they finally untied him and flicked him lightly with the sash on his most sensitive part, Zevran exploded with an intensity that left him utterly emptied.

He was again allowed a bath and a healer before being escorted to a room where the centrepiece was a rack. It hurt sure but Zevran distracted himself with thoughts of breaking away from the restraints of being a recruit, finally becoming a Crow and enjoying his ultimate pleasures: the hunt, the seduction, the kill. This senseless torture to get him to admit planting the poison in the target's possessions was pointless. When he did not wish to divulge a secret, even the threat of death would not intimidate him. He was to be a Crow. No self-respecting Crow feared death, they relished it, relished in being the bringer of it. It is his aspiration to always hold the ability to end someone's life in his hands.

His two elven torturers were speaking but in the haze of pain, Zevran only caught the last sentence.

"We're not going to go easy on you, trust me." The Crow torturer said with a smirk.

"No…" Zevran groaned as they tightened the crank further. "I wouldn't…" He managed to keep his groan in this time as they continued to turn the wheel. "want you to hold back. I'd be disappointed if you…" This time Zevran just gritted his teeth to keep the groan from escaping before continuing. "you."

The rest of what was said was lost to Zevran as he proceeded to distract himself again. Filling his mind with pleasurable triggers instead of whatever was really happening to him. There would only be one eventuality. He would be a Crow. He had already given too much of himself to die from this. He will be a Crow. He will take lives because he can and for the absolute pleasure it brings him.

-0-

_9:20 Dragon Age, Circle Tower, Lake Calenhad, Ferelden – 10 years after Neria (now 10) was found_

Neria's eyes were wide with wonder. Out of habit, she scribbled in her notebook. _I'm going to Antiva with you and Greagoir for the College of Magi?_

Irving nodded with a smile. "Yes, Ines and Greagoir decided that sending you to be 'examined' by Ines would be the most plausible way to 'recover' your voice. Sadly, Ines would only be able to repair some of the damage. You will never get your original voice back." He finished with a twinkle in his eyes.

Neria nearly whooped in her excitement. She held it in at the last moment and settled for jumping up and down. Her eyes were shining with the joy she felt inside at the thought of seeing Ines again.

_When do we leave?_ _What do I need to pack?_ She looked up eagerly at Irving.

"Greagoir is making the necessary arrangements for passage. So I expect it would take a week or two. Just a change of robes and whatever you will need for your daily clean up. We can purchase anything else in Antiva." Irving chuckled when Neria actually quivered with suppressed exuberance. "Go on with you now. I'm sure you will wish to share your good news with your friends."

Neria skipped out of the First Enchanter's office and nearly crashed into an anxiously waiting Jowan. Anders shoved off the wall where he had been lounging, took one look at her exultant face and remarked drily to Jowan. "Told you that she's not in trouble again, you worrywart."

"What? You are the one… Ow!" Jowan abruptly broke off his sentence when Anders shot a small bolt up his arse.

"So, sweetie, good news?" Anders asked nonchalantly as if nothing of consequence had occurred.

Neria grasped his hands and sent pulse after pulse of magic into him in code. Anders hissed, stiffened and pushed her away. She frowned and looked up in confusion at him. Anders swallowed hard and thanked the Maker that his robes were voluminous enough to hide his very obvious discomfort. It was not something he understood at all. Neria had always been like a little sister to him but since he turned fifteen, every time she touched him with her magic, he had such a violent sexual reaction that he just felt utterly disgusted and horrified at himself.

"Neria…" His voice came out sounding gravelly and he had to clear his throat to continue. "What did I tell you about not using magic on me? Whatever it is you need to tell me, you can write it down. Or use Jowan."

Neria raised those bright hazel eyes to stare bewilderedly at him and Anders had to swallow hard, clenching his fists to keep from pulling her into his arms. She shrugged, pulled out her notebook and wrote. _Jowan sucks at reading my codes._

"Hey now… I don't…" Jowan started.

Neria raised a brow and he stopped. _I'M GOING TO ANTIVA!_

"Wow! Antiva? You lucky minx!" Jowan exclaimed loudly. "Always causing trouble and they reward you by taking you to Antiva?"

Neria rolled her eyes. _It's to help me recover my voice, you dork!_

Anders' mouth had tightened and he had remained strangely silent. She reached out to hug him like she always did when he retreated within himself and was hurt when he moved out of her way hastily.

Neria tilted her head and looked at Anders with the sadness she felt in her eyes. He sighed, squatted and hugged her as close as he could without revealing his state. "Oh sugar, of course I am happy for you. It's high time they did something for you. A whole tower filled with mages who have supposedly incredible powers and not one who is able to help you recover your voice. I'm just sorry that I am not competent enough in my healing skills to aid you."

Neria smiled tenderly, placed her slender hands on his face and placed a light kiss on his lips and Anders' breath hitched noticeably. He flushed, extricated himself and stood hurriedly. "Let's…" He cleared his throat firmly. "Let's tell the others."

As he walked away, Anders admonished himself. _She is just an affectionate child. What's wrong with me? Maybe I should take up Petra's offer for companionship. Yes, that should stave off these crazy reactions. A bit of distance should help too. Thank the Maker she is going to Antiva. When she can speak in that clearly childish voice of hers, this will end. Oh Maker… It had better end._

-0-

_9:20 Dragon Age, Castle Cousland, Highever, Ferelden – Neria (10)_

The little girl peering around Teyrna Cousland had dark brown hair and forest green eyes. That was all they could see of her as she had gasped and hid behind her mother's skirts when Neria had smiled brilliantly at her.

"Elissa Cousland. You are nine. Stop this nonsense and greet our guests." Eleanor smiled tightly while prying her daughter's hands loose from her dress.

Neria stepped forward, curtseyed with a flourish and rose with a bewitching smile.

Greagoir choked back a laugh and Irving's eyebrows rose. _Where did the child learn this?_ The thought was shared.

"What a well brought up little girl you are." Eleanor sighed with appreciation. "Unlike some other little harridan I know." She added as an aside with pointed looks at her daughter. When she finally managed to shove the girl in front of her, Elissa bowed and Neria's eyes widened with incredulity.

The little girl was dressed in full leather armour, cuirass, skirt, gauntlets, greaves and boots, with two small daggers sheathed at her sides. Neria turned to look pleadingly at Irving and he groaned knowing exactly what that look meant.

"No, Neria." Irving patiently explained. "You may not have an outfit like that. They are for rogues. Not mages. It may not look heavy or unwieldy but it takes strength and dexterity to wear them."

Neria pouted, pointed to Elissa then herself and made the sign for smaller than.

"Yes, she is younger than you but I'll bet that she has been training since young in it just as you were trained in magic since three." Irving good-naturedly replied. "Just as I don't expect her to be able to cast Lightning, I do not expect you to be able to wear that."

Eleanor laughed jovially. "Elissa has been training since she was five years old. Alas, she has become more comfortable in them then out of them." Gazing intently at Neria, she smiled indulgently. "I could let you try on one of her old sets of armour. You are about the same size. Would you like that little one?"

Neria nodded eagerly. "Elissa, go and ask Nan to bring out the armour you were wearing last year and we shall let…" She hesitated before turning to Neria to ask. "What's your name, child?"

"Her name is Neria." Irving answered when Neria looked pointedly at him. "She had an unfortunate accident three years ago and is now mute."

"Oh, you poor little thing. Well, we will see if the armour suits you. If it does, consider it a gift from me." Eleanor chuckled indulgently when the child jumped up and down with glee.

Before they could enter the castle proper, the Teyrn came striding in with servants carrying a limp boy on a stretcher. Eleanor gasped and race to the boy's side. "Maker! What happened to Fergus, Bryce?"

"Fetch the healer!" Bryce Cousland snapped at the elven servant curtly before turning to answer his wife. "A wild boar gored him while we were out hunting. The boy would not leave his man who had already been injured. Where is that healer?" He roared in state due to his obvious worry for his son.

A middle aged man came scrambling in, immediately sat down beside the stretcher and bringing out salves and health poultices. Fergus started to cough out blood and the healer paused in alarm. He looked up in a panic and stuttered in a quivering voice. "Your Grace… This is…" Sweat began beading on his forehead. "This is beyond my skill."

"What?" Bryce bellowed. "What do you mean beyond your skills? I paid good money to retain you. If you cannot heal him, what have I been keeping you here for?"

Neria rolled her eyes in exasperation and walked to the other side of the stretcher. Kneeling down beside the boy whose wounds was still bleeding, she placed both her hands, side by side, directly on the wound and closed her eyes.

"What is she doing?" The healer and the Teyrn both shouted at once and made to push her away but Irving and Greagoir held up their hands to stay them.

"I know she looks very young but Neria is very talented in healing magic. Let her do this. I'm very sure you won't regret it." Irving assured them.

The intense look of concentration on Neria's face silenced everyone. With bated breath, they watched as the wound magically closed and Fergus stopped hacking up blood. His breath started to regulate and when Neria finally heaved a sigh, he seemed to have lapsed into a deep slumber.

Neria mimed that Fergus needed sleep and glanced at her hands in aghast. She negligently cast a cone of cold and flame blast simultaneously into small bowl she removed from her pack. After washing her hands in the resultant water, she wiped her hands on the back of her robes and pulled out her notebook and pencil.

_He had a punctured lung and stomach. I have healed both the injuries but he will need to sleep to regain his strength from blood loss. Did he knock his head against something? He had a concussion too but I have healed that too._ Yawning, she continued to write. _I'm just a little tired after all that. May I go lie down a while?_

She rubbed her eyes and yawned again. Eleanor was the first to recover her composure. "Anything, you desire, child, is yours as our thanks for this." Taking the little elven girl's hand, she ushered her to the guest chambers for a well-deserved rest.

Bryce raised a brow. "I didn't think that apprentices had that level of proficiency."

Irving answered smoothly. "Neria is a very talented apprentice."

* * *

><p>In the end, they stayed for three days at Castle Cousland as Teyrna Cousland did not trust their resident healer to be able to handle Fergus' injury despite Irving's and Greagoir's reassurances that no more magic was required to hasten the healing.<p>

It suited Neria just fine as Elissa's leather armour had to be refitted for her. Even though the human girl was a year younger than Neria, she was boarder than the lithe elf as most humans were.

However, as per Irving's prediction, despite the lightness of the leather armour, Neria found them chaffing, bulky and altogether too burdensome to move around in. Elissa had laughed at her awkwardness, earning her a smack on her head from her brother who was well enough to incline in a chair to view the revealing of Neria in her new outfit.

"I suppose you would get accustomed to its weight if you wore it daily." Eleanor suggested tentatively when she noted the disappointment on Neria's face. She drew out two small daggers from her sleeve. "A gift from the Teyrn and me. We saw how you admired Elissa's and thought it would be a small reward for healing Fergus' wounds."

Neria grinned delightedly at the gift while Irving groaned long-sufferingly. "Teyrn, Teyrna, it is our pleasure to serve. No gifts are necessary."

"Nonsense," Teyrn Bryce cut in. "Let the child have this. See how she appreciates them already."

Neria had unsheathed them and was experimentally stabbing at the air with them.

Greagoir sighed. "I believe what the First Enchanter is so delicately attempting to say is that mages are not allowed to carry any weapons other than staves. Neria is still an apprentice so she is not even allowed a staff."

Neria turned pleading eyes at both of them and they sighed collectively. "You may have them until we return to the Circle Tower."

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_9:20 Dragon Age, Antiva City – Neria (10) and Zevran (17)_

Neria bounced up and down on the deck as the ship dropped anchor in the cobalt blue waters of Rialto Bay. It was much warmer than she expected and she would have been much more comfortable if she had been in her leather armour like she was throughout the voyage. However, Greagoir had insisted she change into her robes as there may be other templars present at the docks. After a month in the leather armour given by Teyrna Cousland, she was much more comfortable in them. Her heavy apprentice robes were just a nuisance to have on in this weather. When they finally settled the gangplank to the dock, she nearly dashed down it in her excitement to see Ines again but Irving held her back in amusement.

"Now, now, child." Irving said with a twinkle in his eyes. "Age before beauty."

Greagoir harrumphed before holding out his hand for Neria's own with a smile. "He just doesn't want Ines to lay into him for letting you run around wildly in a foreign place." Neria returned his smile and marvelled at how Greagoir was so different away from the Circle Tower. So much less, well, rigid.

They walked down the gangplank and Neria sprinted over to where she saw Irving speaking with Ines. Greagoir halted a good six feet away to get an unobstructed view of the woman he had corresponded with for the last three years.

They wrote each other regularly. Neither saying anything about their relationship as if by prior mutual agreement when there had been none. Reports of her life in Antiva were replied with reports of Neria's growth. Frustrations with Neria's discipline problems were answered with suggestions for compromises that both may accept. They became close friends who confided in each other and, despite the physical distance, they grew closer than when they had been meeting daily for seven years. Now as Greagoir watched her hug Neria in her arms, he felt the love he buried so deep inside him flare again. He heaved a resigned sigh. It was going to be a long three weeks.

* * *

><p>"Zevran! Master Frediano summons you." Leandro called from the side of the training rings where Zevran had been aiding Leandro with the recruits. It was something he enjoyed doing in his spare time. There was a certain satisfaction in predicting which recruit could make the cut and which would not.<p>

He bowed with a flourish to his sparring opponent and turned to leave the ring. From the corner of his eyes, he saw that his adversary had not put down his weapons but, was instead, sneaking up to backstab him. In a flurry of motions, Zevran sidestepped, rolled, came up behind his foe and drew his dagger across his neck. Blood immediately spurted from the deep cut, the boy, a mere eleven year old, gasped, clutching his neck futilely and fell.

"Tsk… You made me dirty my clothes. I'll have to make myself presentable before I meet my Master." Zevran glared at the dying boy. Lightly stepping so as not to stain his boots, he walked towards Leandro even as house elves rushed out to bundle the body like yesterday's rubbish and clean up the blood on the ground.

"That was slobby." Leandro remarked offhandedly as Zevran strolled past him. "The position you were in, you should have angled your arm under his ribs and stabbed him straight through to the heart. That way, minimal blood loss but he would still be dead."

"He wanted to sneak up on me when I had already bowed out. I'm not about to give him an easy death. This way of dying makes a greater statement than him just falling dead with minimal blood." Zevran grinned with a deadly gleam in his eyes, looking around the training ring where the rest of the recruits refused to meet his eyes in sheer terror. "Besides, you and I both know that he would not have made it another week. I was just kind enough to put him out of his misery rather than watch him struggle futilely like a fish out of water, no?"

Leandro smirked. "You're right at that. I think your Master has a new job for you."

"Another one? I just came back from the previous one yesterday. Brasca! You would think that he would at least grant his best Crow some rest after that previous job." Zevran sighed. "Ah! Here I am doing all the work, poor as a Chantry mouse and him enjoying all the fruits of my labour."

Leandro stared at him seriously. "If you don't like it, you could always grow stronger and take over as Master."

Zevran raised a brow and smiled diffidently. "Me, a Master? Ah, my friend, that is a position that entails so much… responsibility. No, I prefer to take lives and pleasures as and when required without such troublesome burdens."

* * *

><p>To say that Zevran was disgruntled would be an understatement. He understood that the Crows took any contracts that were profitable but this really takes the cake on acceptable contracts to a good Crow like him.<p>

He was to be a bodyguard for a child who needs to travel into the Antivan jungles for personal reasons. Any other Crow could have taken this job. He really did not understand Master Frediano's insistence that he did this. He just hoped that the child was not a brat.

* * *

><p>"This is the young man you mentioned who would be perfect for this service?" Ines questioned while examining the elven young man in front of her. "What is your name?" She directly enquired of Zevran in the Common Tongue.<p>

Zevran bowed with a flourish and declared flamboyantly in Common. "Zevran Arainai. Delighted to be at your service." He finally realised the reason for Master Frediano's insistence. Of all the Crows currently under Master Frediano, Zevran was the only one with a flair for languages.

Ines raised a brow while searching her mind as she found his name and manner strangely familiar. However, she could not for the life of her remember when or where she might have met him. Drily, she retorted. "It is not I who will have need for your services. Neria, you may come out now."

A pop was heard and out of nowhere, an armed child in leather armour was standing beside Zevran. He instinctively unsheathed his daggers to defend himself and felt himself paralysed. The child, an elven girl of not more than twelve years, peered up at him with open curiosity while tilting her head to the side. She smiled brilliantly at him and Zevran knew that if he could have, he would have returned it.

She stepped backwards and Zevran noted that she was wearing well-made leather cuirass, skirt, gauntlets, greaves, boots and had two equally fine daggers sheathed at her sides. Her hair was shimmering black velvet going midway down her back, braided and beribboned with a myriad of multi coloured ribbons. Her skin was fair to the point of translucent. She was lithe and small with long elven ears Zevran had only previously seen on Dalish elves. Her eyes was a bright hazel with chocolate specks that were looking so intently into him that Zevran suspected she could see into his black, sinful soul.

She went to stand beside the lady mage and Zevran was released from his paralysis. "This is Neria. She is mute so it is very important that whoever escorts her to the destination and back is able to read her notes which will be in Common Tongue." Ines looked enquiringly at Master Frediano.

"As I had previously said, Zevran is the best candidate for this. He speaks, reads and writes Common proficiently and I can guarantee better than any other young Crow you may find, male or female." He boasted with pride, almost as if Zevran's accomplishments were his own. "If you like, you may test him now."

Neria took out her notebook and pencil, tapped it against her cheek pondering before she scribbled something on a page of her notebook with a mischievous grin and showed it just to Zevran.

_Would you teach me how to fight with daggers?_

Zevran laughed and executed another extravagant bow. "Your wish is my command, piccino. As long as the contract is signed and paid, of course."

Ines sighed. "Do I even want to know what she wrote? Ah well… What I don't know, won't lose me sleep. Here is the initial deposit as agreed." Plonking a small money bag on the palm extended by Master Frediano, Ines narrowed her eyes. "No harm is to come to this child. Or else." A ball of fire appeared above the palm of her hands.

"Don't worry, Mistress of Magic. Crows never fail." Master Frediano counted out the sovereigns in the bag. Nodding to Zevran, he asked. "Where do you wish us to escort her?"

Unrolling a map, Ines pointed to an area within the Antivan jungles about a three or four day journey from Antiva City. "There. Escort her there. If she wishes to stay for a day or two, let her, but escort her back as soon as you can after that and keep her safe." Tossing another small money bag at Zevran, Ines said dismissively. "That is for the journey. Don't stay at taverns and don't let Neria step into one. Purchase anything you may need whenever and wherever convenient. Make sure she is fed on time as she cannot go hungry. She needs six meals a day."

Zevran's eyebrows rose. "Six meals?" Turning to the young elven girl, he ogled at her small and limber form and wondered out loud. "Why do you pack it all away, dolce bambina?"

Neria grinned noncommittally. Non magi often do not understand that mages require more food than normal people to sustain mana regeneration. Ines' words were still much on her mind. _It is fortuitous that you were given the leather armour, Neria, for they cannot know that you are a mage. Do not use magic in Antiva City, the templars will feel it and bring you right back. You may even be punished for running away. Remember, no magic unless your life is threatened. The Crow will be able to protect you from any but the most dire of situations._

"That is none of your concern. You are only required to protect her, make sure she is fed on time and rested." Ines said firmly. "That should not be a problem for you is it?"

"No, no. It's a stroll in the park or in the jungle as the case may be." Zevran answered with confidence.

* * *

><p><em>Ah well… Fate is such a tricky whore.<em> Zevran thought as they were waylaid in the back streets of Antiva City just after they had purchased supplies from the market for their excursion to the jungles.

Three men in rough armour were blocking their advance while another two were impeding their retreat. Zevran gave a feral grin at the odds. _One against five. Pretty bad odds. For them._

Neria gestured questioningly at the approaching men. "Amata fanciulla, I'm afraid that these are the ruffians I am supposed to be protecting you from. The odds they may seem not so good at the moment but fear not. I shall even them out."

Going into stealth mode, Zevran disappeared right in front of Neria's astonished eyes and crept behind one of the two men to plunge a dagger into his throat while covering his mouth to stifle any sound. Even before the other man could react, Zevran's throwing knife was already buried in his chest.

The three men in front of them were galvanised into action. Neria sprinted towards him, narrowly missing being decapitated by one of the man swinging his sword. _Such lack of finesse._ Zevran thought furiously as he threw his remaining knives into them. Two hit their marks and the men dropped, not so much by the accuracy of the blows but by the Crow Poison laced on them. Zevran knew he had to finish the brute in front of him quickly or the other two may soon be giving him trouble again.

Neria wondered if she should be helping Zevran. Ines had urged her not to use her magic for fear of templars getting the scent of her magic. However, she had secreted some bombs into her pack and she drew one out now. She threw it at the feet of the man Zevran was fighting when she saw that the thug had slashed a long cut under his arm. It exploded, shooting up spikes of ice and impaling him. Neria's jaw dropped. When she had experimented on bombs with Ines, it had always been on straw men. Straw men did not bleed and it was quite easy to be clinical about the effects of bombs that way. There was nothing clinical about this. Neria did not know whether she was horrified at the loss of life or satisfied that her bomb worked so well.

"Next time, piccino. Please give a warning before you throw that. Won't want me caught in one of those do you?" Zevran laughed uneasily before smacking his hand on his forehead. "Ah, what am I saying? Such foolishness, I'm so sorry, dolce bambina. I forget that you could not speak."

Neria smiled, shrugging while taking another bomb from her pack and casually throwing it at the remaining men. It exploded and electricity spread out singeing them to death. A deadly grin formed before Neria could stop it and she clapped her hands in delight. Zevran felt tingles of unexpected pleasure run down his spine watching the sweet child get such joy in killing men.

"You would make a fine Crow." Zevran noted amiably. "If you could speak, that is."

Neria blinked and smiled a secretive smile before handing him a Lesser Health Poultice, indicating that he should take care of the cut on the back of his arm. Zevran grimaced at the reminder of his injury and sighed when he realised that he could not possibly do this himself. "I'm afraid that I cannot reach this, piccino. Would you be so kind as to assist?"

Neria nodded before bringing out linen bandages and a water bag. She poured the fluid from the water bag directly onto the laceration on Zevran's arm. Expecting water, Zevran nearly hissed when he realised it was cleaning alcohol. Gently patting it dry, Neria placed the health poultice over the injury and begun to wind a bandage around his arm over it. She tied it off with a small bow under his arm where it would not interfere with his movements.

Zevran flexed his arm and marvelled that it was feeling much better. He stared wonderingly at the child and laughed heartily. "You are quite the little healer aren't you?"

Neria grinned and took out her notebook and pencil. _Would you like a kiss to make it better?_ Raising teasing eyes at the rogue, Neria did not wait for him to answer but planted a light kiss on Zevran's cheek before packing up the healing paraphernalia she had taken out of her pack. It was something she often did with the younger apprentices in the Circle Tower.

Zevran's breath hitched. He felt exactly as when he had accidentally triggered a Shock Trap except this shock was more pleasant, much, much more pleasant.

His eyes narrowed as he took in Neria's neat packing of gear before closing the flap of her pack. He had wondered at the size of it given her slight form but had not wanted to ask too many questions. Reaching to pick it up, Zevran was stopped by a pair of dainty hands. Neria stroked his injured arm with concern clear in her eyes and Zevran suddenly felt the urge to purr. He recoiled from her touch and her eyes grew round with alarm.

_Does it hurt that much? Do you need rest? Perhaps we should start our journey on another day?_ Neria wrote into her notebook while Zevran peered over her shoulder to read.

"No, dolce bambina. It is fine. Let's move on before another enterprising group seeks to finish what this one started." Zevran picked up his own pack and watched Neria carry her own large one. He wondered at his reaction to her touch. There were Crows who liked the touch of young children but Zevran had never been very partial to it. He wondered if he had just been introduced to the wrong type of children. It was perhaps something to explore when he returned from this mission.

* * *

><p>Neria was skipping ahead, darting here and there cutting up what to Zevran seemed like random plants. The day was perfect, the sun shining and birds seemed to be literally serenading them throughout their journey. Zevran had never been fanciful but he thought that the animals themselves were watching their progress, as if fascinated despite themselves.<p>

As the sun started to set, he looked around for a suitable place to camp as the lady mage had given such strict instructions not to lodge in any taverns. Zevran sighed despondently. He was a city elf and camping was not his cup of tea. He found a clearing near a small pond and called out to Neria.

Neria came scurrying back, smiling joyously at being out in the open. The jungle felt like home to her somehow and she was in rapture from observing plants she had previously only seen as illustrations in books. She touched and smelled those that were safe and took her time to commit those that were not to her memory.

When Zevran started struggling to put up canvas structures that she guessed were tents, Neria stopped him indicating that she would like to sleep under the stars. He grimaced. "It may rain. I do not wish to get wet." She grinned and shook her head firmly, smoothing out her bedroll on the ground before starting to arrange a ring of stones for the campfire. Resignedly, Zevran placed his bedroll on the opposite side. He went around gathering firewood while Neria portioned out bread, cheese and poured out wine into cups. Zevran raised a brow. "Aren't you a little too young to imbibe?"

Neria smiled guilelessly, scribbling in her notebook. _I always have a cup for dinner._ Zevran narrowed his eyes suspiciously but shrugged. He was her protector not her guardian. If she wanted to drink, so be it.

He sat in front of the fireplace, arranging the firewood without any clue if he was doing it correctly. Neria squatted beside him and waved him aside. He watched as she arranged small sticks and bits of twigs into a small pile before looking at him for the flint and steel. He dropped them in her hands and sat back to watch her light the fire. _Does she have experience with this?_

One strike and the twigs ignited. She hurriedly added more sticks and twigs and as the fire roared to life, thicker pieces of wood.

Neria sneaked a glimpse at Zevran. It did not seem that he had noticed her small use of flame blast on the firewood. It was fortunate that he did not seem to know how to start a camp fire. Otherwise, he would have been more suspicious of the ease with which the fire had been lit. Thankfully, she had learnt enough watching Greagoir on their way from the Circle Tower to Highever to appear competent.

Zevran was intrigued by Neria. She was obviously good with bombs and poultices but extremely clueless about the daggers she carried. She did not know how to wield them and could barely unsheathe them properly to cut off whatever plant piqued her interest. However, she obviously liked the outdoors, sleeping under the stars and could light a fire like someone who had always camped.

She was also a happy child. Much happier than any child Zevran had ever met. Which given his entire life might not have been that remarkable except that he was also taking into account the children from the slums who played carefree in the streets. Joy just seemed to radiate from her and it was all he could do not to bask in it.

From the quality of her armour and daggers, Zevran would have thought she was a noble except that Neria was an elf. She was an enigma that Zevran could not resolve and it rankled. Most of the time, he was able to read a person within hours, if not minutes of exchanging greetings. He had spent a whole day with her and still had no clue into the inner workings of her mind.

Neria sat back, satisfaction rife on her face at the blazing fire. She passed him his portion of the meal and proceeded to quietly eat her food. He observed her mannerisms. Again, they reminded him of the way nobles ate. Small, delicate bites, soft swallows and dainty sips from the cup. He wondered if she would divulge more of her background and was opening his mouth to ask when she unsheathed her daggers and walked up to him.

She held both daggers in one hand while displaying the page with her earlier request to him. Nodding, he jumped up and motioned for her to follow him deeper into the clearing. "What do you know about dual wielding?"

Neria shrugged, giving him a helpless look.

Zevran smiled encouragingly. "Do you at least know how they are held?"

Neria smiled and held up the daggers in her hands pointed down, hilt ends near her thumbs.

Zevran chortled with mock amusement. He was in for a long night. He walked over and touched her hand, intending to change her grip on the dagger. A spark, if that was what it was, raced up his fingertips from where he touched her and ignited his senses. He drew away, hissing in displeasure at his reaction, if not at the pure pleasure of it, while Neria gazed at him, utterly perplexed.

_Brasca! She is totally unaffected and here I am behaving like some untested teenager!_ Zevran shook himself and schooled his face into his usual inscrutable mask. He unsheathed his own daggers and demonstrated to her the proper way to grip them. Neria focused on his hands and changed her grip so that the daggers were held upwards.

"You need to keep your grip light but firm, flexible but strong." Zevran twirled his daggers effortlessly, eliciting a gasp from Neria.

Smiling cockily, Zevran proceeded to feint at imaginary foes, turning and slashing, thrusting and sweeping. He stopped and glanced over his shoulder to see Neria focused on his every move. He grinned and continued.

At the end of his performance, he bowed with a flourish and gestured for Neria to start. She hesitated and he smiled reassuringly. She paused for a long while but to Zevran's great astonishment, she mimicked his every move to near perfection.

By the end of it, she finished with the same flourish he had given her and Zevran clapped. "That was your first time?"

Neria nodded excitedly. Sheathing her daggers, she scrawled. _How was that?_

"It was very well done. You have a talent for this. You really would make a good Crow recruit." Zevran smiled indulgently.

Neria beamed and jumped up and down with glee before launching herself on Zevran. Unconsciously, he had pressed a stiletto against her throat. She gulped, staring up at him, not in fear, Zevran was surprised to note, but avid curiosity. She backed away and scribbled in her notebook again. _Where did you hide that?_

Zevran laughed warmly. He realised that he had laughed genuinely thrice so far in Neria's presence. That was more than he had done in the entire year. "That is a Crow secret, piccola cara. If I told you, I would have to kill you." Neria pouted and slowly approached him. She did not stop until she was pressed up against him. She wound her arms around him in a thankful hug. Backing away, she smiled and went to lie down on her bedroll leaving Zevran rooted on the spot with amazement at her show of affection and his body's unruly reaction to it.

* * *

><p>When the sun rose the next morning, Neria insisted on taking care of his injury before moving on. She unwound his bandages and removed the poultice, cleaning it with a clean cloth and water warmed from the fire. Her touch was gentle and light but cause great disturbances to Zevran's equilibrium. <em>Brasca! It was not so long that I have been without sex that a mere child could stir this level of lust!<em>

By the time, she reapplied a new poultice and bandaged him up again, a part of Zevran was very much awake. Despite this, or perhaps because of it, he caught her hand just before she could turn away and teased. "What I don't get a kiss today?" Neria grinned good-naturedly and placed a light kiss on Zevran's cheek. He forced himself not to react outwardly to the tingles of pleasure spreading out from where she had kissed him and smiled tightly at her.

Much to his discomfort, she started to walk beside him today, glancing at him every now and then as if puzzled about something. Finally, after what had to be the thirtieth time she had stolen a glimpse at him, Zevran asked. "What is it?"

Neria winked and opened up her notebook to the place where she had asked where he hid the stiletto. He laughed again. The sound was such a happy one that Zevran wondered how the child could bring out such simple joy in him.

* * *

><p>They settled into a daily routine. Zevran would demonstrate stances and actions each morning and evening while Neria committed them to mind and practised. Often, Zevran found her waking up earlier in the mornings or waiting until she thought he was asleep in the nights to practise. He watched her silently, repeating the motions that he had demonstrated so intently that she was unaware she was being watched. As a Crow, he was a very light sleeper and it was impossible for her to move around the camp without waking him but he did not have the heart to chastise her when she was so earnest in learning to fight well.<p>

Neria would tend to his wound daily and each time Zevran had to exert more of his self-control to not act on the increasing intensity of his reaction to her touch. It helped somewhat when he learnt to his horror that she was just ten which made him a good seven years older than her.

A light breakfast and they would be off, Neria walking beside him now and then but mostly flitting ahead to pick up more plants or just standing to look at them while he passed. She would run back to walk beside him and the sequence would repeat.

For such a small girl, she could really eat. More than once, he had to stop inside a tavern to purchase more food while she waited patiently outside for him. The smile on her face each time she tore in warm bread made Zevran wonder how she would react to the rich Antivan pastries that were too flaky to pack. He resolved to introduce her to them on their way back.

Evenings, he would find a place to camp and gather firewood while Neria portioned out the food and started the fire. After a simple but filling dinner, Zevran would train her with her daggers again. He found himself helplessly touching her in little ways, seeking the pleasure he received each time their skin met. He always noted that she had absolutely no idea what she did to him. Eventually, in spite of feeling more than a little self-disgusted, Zevran found himself flirting outrageously with the child. However, Neria would just return his more common teases with her own or look utterly baffled at his more risqué ones. It was galling to say the least. The great Zevran Arainai, seducer extraordinaire, could not succeed in the seduction a child.

On the fourth day, they finally came to the clearing marked on the map that the lady mage had provided. It was a desolate place with tall weeds growing everywhere. Zevran had to cut them a path through to the centre which Neria seemed determined to reach.

Strangely, the centre of the clearing was free of the weeds growing all around them. A perfect circle of short, fragrant grass grew here and there was what looked to be a pile of grey ashes in the middle of it.

Neria had been visibly shaken, approaching the grey dust without hesitation and stooping to touch it. Zevran was instantly at her side and grasping her arm to draw her away. "You should not touch substances that you know nothing about, piccino…" He began even as Neria reached out with her other hand to feel it.

There was a sudden, blinding flash in the clearing. Zevran's last conscious thought was filled with derision. _I knew this job had been way too easy._

**Translations**

Piccino – Child

Dolce bambina – Sweet girl

Amata fanciulla – Beloved girl

Piccola cara – Little Darling

_**Author's Notes**_

_I will be taking a short break to catch up on the editing of my mentor's book. Do drop in after a fortnight or so for the next update._

_Every time I receive notifications of people __reviewing__, adding this story to their list of favourites and/or putting this story on their alert list, I get a little giddy from happiness. Thank you all so much for your support, it helps to keep me writing. :)_

_I would also like to thank all the silent readers of this story__. :)_


	16. Losses and Discoveries

_**Standard Disclaimer: Bioware owns all Dragon Age characters and in game content. I own the bits that are left.**_

_**Author's Note: **__This is one of those chapters that earn this story its M rating. Contains male/male interactions, implied rape, slight paedophilic themes. Yeah, it's a crazy chapter. Consider yourself warned._

**Chapter 16 – Losses and Discoveries**

_9:20 Dragon Age, Circle Tower, Lake Calenhad, Ferelden – Aneirin (17), Anders (15)_

Anders smoothed down his robes, sternly suppressing his shivers, before pressing a kiss on the other apprentice's mouth. "Thank you for a… pleasant evening, my dear."

Her mouth twitched in a distinctly predatory smile. "The name is Solona, Solona Amell. I would hope that I'm not that forgettable." Azure eyes flashed with unadulterated lust. "Perhaps, another performance would help you commit it to memory."

_Oh no, not with you I'm not._ His smile faltered before he stepped further into the shadows to disguise his distaste. "Ah, we have to hurry back before the next patrol comes along." Anders hastily added. "Another night perhaps?"

"There are only so many dark haired female apprentices within the Tower for you to fuck. You'll soon come round to me again if you cannot even remember my name." Her sarcastic voice could have frozen the air around him.

"What makes you think I have limited my choices to only females?" Anders retorted, his tone just as frosty. "Come. Let's go before the patrol comes back around to this alcove." He exited the small nook where he and Solona had ended up having sex. Without looking to see if she followed, he hurried back in the direction of the apprentices' dormitories, keeping to the shadows as much as he could.

The only thing he knew about Solona was that she was one of those apprentices near their group's average age to enter the Circle Tower even before Neria. According to the grapevine, she was transferred here in 9:09 Dragon Age at the age of five from Kirkwall where her family were part of the nobility. Her stuck-up attitude and proficiency in Entropy magic made most shy away from her in spite of her attractiveness. Jowan had once remarked that she fit the Black Widow persona perfectly. After tonight, Anders would be quick to agree.

Nevertheless, Anders had initially been drawn to her, or more specifically to her hair, its dark brown so like black in the shadows of the Circle Tower. Surprisingly, it had not taken much of Anders' skills in charm, humour and flattery before she unbend enough to accept his offer for companionship. Thus, he had been astounded when he discovered she was a virgin. He cringed at the memory of it, him panicking at the thought that he had somehow hurt her from her hiss of pain and the blood staining their joining while with soft laughter and much unbridled lust, she had urged him to pound harder into her.

Thereafter, Anders kept running into her in the hallways, library or other common areas. She would always proposition him and, weak-willed as he was, he would always agree. He had sympathised with the brief glimpses of a damaged mind she kept hidden away from others. He felt he was helping her by giving her pleasure in a place where so little of it exists for those corralled as they were. However, tonight, when she had cast Paralysis on him before literally having her way with him, he inwardly decided that he never wanted to repeat the experience. If possible, he never wanted to see her again. There has to be a way to avoid one bloody apprentice in a tower filled with hundreds of them.

Anders heaved a disgusted sigh, not knowing if it was at Solona or himself. He had thought that giving in to Petra's insistence to show him a "good time" would relieve his disgusting obsession with Neria. Instead, he found himself supplied with images of what he would like to do to her in his dreams and often woke trembling, torn between warring feelings of self-repulsion and searing lust.

Petra had been a very good teacher and he was, even if he was the only one to say so, which incidentally he was not, a very enthusiastic student. However, Anders soon found his attention shifting from Petra to other apprentices. Mostly those with black or dark coloured hair as his most recent paramour so helpfully pointed out. It was revolting but Anders could as much help it as the sun rises each day. Most times, he could not even remember their names or faces as his traitorous mind would supply Neria's image instead. At least he succeeded in not calling out her name when he came. Well, only in one instance had he failed and she, Solona, had never let him forget it.

In his heart, Anders knew who he really wanted. He just had to wait for her to grow up and, hopefully, win her heart for himself before some other man could. Placing himself in close proximity to her was his only plan of action so far.

He skulked in the shadows, silently moving through the dark, avoiding the places where mage lights illuminated the corridors. Almost reaching his dormitory, Anders froze when he heard a scuffle. He peeked out and saw four templars pushing a defeated looking Aneirin towards the basement. Anders had never seen that look on his elven friend. Aneirin had always been a taciturn but proud young elf, only opening his mouth to discuss Arlathan, Elvhenan, other Dalish ways and their supposedly superior heritage. Silently, Anders followed his friend's obviously reluctant descent into the depths of the Circle Tower.

* * *

><p>"So knife ear, I heard that you like it both ways, eh?" One of the templars sneered even as he loosened his breeches under his mauve skirt.<p>

Aneirin sighed with resignation. "Why don't you guys just get it done and over with so that I can at least get some sleep tonight?" He huffed tiredly. "Senior Enchanter Wynne has been asking me why I am so distracted lately."

The templars faltered. The one who had spoken aloud angrily smacked Aneirin with his gauntleted fist. "Is that a threat, knife ear?"

Wiping a trail of blood from the side of his mouth, Aneirin snorted. "Hardly… Just wanted to let you know that she had started to notice and wonder at my lack of focus and mana. You may want to leave off the bashing so that I won't have to expend all my efforts to heal myself after each session."

Anders paled. He could not understand the fatality in Aneirin's voice. From his speech, this has happened more than once. _Why didn't he tell anyone?_

The templars laughed uproariously. "Told you this knife ear whore was biddable." The others started to loosen their breeches too.

Aneirin's eyes flashed with suppressed anger, turning his eyes to ice blue. "I am not a whore. You are not paying me anything for this." He spit out the words even as he raised his robes over his head. "Just make sure you leave the other apprentices alone as per our agreement."

Anders could not help the soft hiss of pity that escaped from his lips. Fortunately, the templars were too focused on Aneirin to hear the faint noise. Aneirin's body was marred with half healed bruises, scratches and lacerations. It is only now that Anders understood Aneirin's preference for privacy when bathing and refusal to join the weekly swimming lessons on the banks of Lake Calenhad.

"You keep us happy and we will have no need to seek others." There was more boisterous laughter from the templars. Aneirin sank, naked onto his hands and knees, offering up his hips with practised ease. He crawled to the man who did all the talking, pushed aside his skirt and started to suck on his semi erect member.

Ander's eyes widened in horror. _What in the Void is happening? Why is Aneirin doing this?_ He wanted to run out to confront the templars but fear kept his feet from moving. Grunts, groans and moans were all Anders heard as he closed his eyes to the repulsive scene. He crept into a nearby recess to wait, silently weeping at his own cowardice in not helping his friend.

* * *

><p>Aneirin woke to the feeling of someone casting Heal on him. He resisted the arms holding him only to hear Anders shushing him. "Aneirin… It's alright. They are gone. It's only me."<p>

A flash of distress crossed Aneirin's eyes and rage marred his face although Anders did not see it.

"Why? Why did they do this? Why did you let them?" Anders asked in an anguished voice.

"Why?" Aneirin rasped, anger turning his eyes to ice. "Is there anything I could do while I'm trapped here?" He laughed derisively. "I believe they are as frustrated to be locked in here as us. They can only go on leave once a year. No longer even allowed to bed any mage they fancy on the threat of death. Fucking a male apprentice is easy. It does not cause unnecessary accidents."

"How can you be so… so… cavalier about this?" Anders sobbed wretchedly. "I'm sorry, I should have stopped them. I should have stood up for you. But there were four of them and I was scared. I didn't even think to get help until after they were gone."

"Anders…" Aneirin reached up to brush his hand through Ander's hair soothingly. "This is nothing that I haven't been subjected to before. I was from an Alienage, remember?"

Anders took a quivering breath and asked. "How long?"

"How long what?" Aneirin sat up and freed himself from his friend's arms. He could no longer take the pity in Anders' eyes and looked away.

"How long have you… Have they…?" Anders could not continue before tears ran down his cheeks again.

Aneirin hunched into himself before mumbling. "Shortly after I arrived here."

Anders gasped in absolute consternation. "Why didn't you tell anyone?"

Aneirin murmured sardonically. "Who would I tell? Who would care about an elven whore?"

Anders raised startled eyes at his friend. "What?"

"My family was very poor, Anders. My father could no longer work due to injury and, later, sickness. My mother had to look after him and my three much younger siblings. There was no other job profitable enough to ensure we didn't all starve to death or die from cold." Aneirin cynically snorted. "I'm just lucky that there were enough nobles who liked elven boys."

Anders closed his eyes to his friend's words, wishing to deny the truth in them. He could not even begin to imagine all that his friend had gone through in order to survive.

"You could tell Wynne. She would not stand for this. She would do something to stop this." Anders' voice grew stronger. "You are her primary apprentice now. Surely she would listen to you."

"Wynne is very dedicated in getting me to become the Spirit Healer I could be." Aneirin stated contemptuously. "And I believe that she has her own demons to defeat."

Anders shivered from the coldness in his tone. "Is there no one who can help? How about the First Enchanter or the Knight-Commander?" He continued to hope for some remedy for this ghastly state of affairs.

"They threatened to do it on the other apprentices, Anders, if I told." Cackling in a humourless way, Aneirin placed his head in his hands. "You, Veness, Jowan, even Neria. I can't let them touch you guys."

Anders' eyes widened in sudden comprehension. "Oh, Aneirin." He threw his arms around his elven friend.

"At least when Irving and Greagoir are around, they only do it about once a month." Aneirin stood unsteadily and extended a hand to Anders. "Unfortunately, when they are not, it can get as frequent as every other day. Don't be around, Anders. I never meant for you, any of you to witness this."

Anders could not stop the tremors. They came from deep inside him. He could not stop the fear for his friend, fear for the rest of his friends and ultimately fear for himself. "You could escape. You can't keep letting them do this to you. It isn't right."

Aneirin heaved a sigh. He understood Anders' trepidation. The illusion of a home and safe haven, which Anders had begun to believe the Circle Tower was, had been completely shattered. "Come, let's get back and rest. If I fall asleep in class again, Wynne will have my hide." He did not disclose to Anders that he had made plans to escape. He was just waiting for the right chance for the actual breakout.

-0-

_9:20 Dragon Age, Jungles of Antiva, Antiva – Neria (10), Zevran (now 17)_

Two elves, a child and a teenage boy, were lying as if asleep near a pile of grey ash while the grass around them grew with alarming speed to cover them in a green canopy, shielding them from any prying eyes.

* * *

><p>Someone was kissing her cheek. Neria murmured. "Please, just five more minutes." Suddenly, wide awake, she clapped her hand over her mouth and stared at the person beside her with widened eyes.<p>

It was a very handsome man with brown hair and familiar soft brown eyes. "Anders?" Neria questioned uncertainly.

"Yes, Neria, love, it's me. Time to get up, you sleepy head." The very adult Anders was smiling lovingly at Neria.

"What did you call me?" Neria was confused. She felt sure that there was a reason for her aversion to speech but it slipped away like a slippery eel when she tried to catch hold of it.

"Love?" Anders smiled rakishly and Neria had to remember to breathe at the sheer passion in his features. _My goodness! When did this happen?_

She sat up and placed her hands on Anders' face, gently stoking his face. Anders nuzzled into her hands and grinned. "You are not tempting me to let you stay in bed…" The rest of what Anders said was lost to her as Neria stared at her own hands. They were bigger than they had been.

"My hands! What happened to them?" Neria brought both of her hands in front of her and gawked bewilderedly at them.

"What? Did you hurt yourself with the poisons you were experimenting on again?" Anders anxiously examined them.

"They are so big? How did you get so old Anders?" Neria questioned doubtfully.

Anders rolled his eyes. "What are you talking about? Your hands are dainty compared to mine." He grasped her very adult hands in his own. "Just because I am five years older than you, darling, does not mean you get to call me old."

Neria shook her head in confusion. Everything felt jumbled in her mind. She had no idea where she was, how she got here and the reason she was so sure that Anders should not be the age he currently seemed to be. "What year is this?"

Anders raised an eyebrow. "First thing you do when waking up on Satinalia is to ask what year it is?" Chuckling, he brought out a small beribboned box. "Happy Feast Day, darling. This is to mark our fifth year together. It's 9:35 Dragon Age."

"What?" Neria moved away from Anders to the edge of the bed. Her legs were also longer than she remembered. She stood and walked to the ceiling to floor mirror on one side of the unfamiliar room. She gasped when she saw the reflection in it.

The mirror displayed a very adult if petite, female elf with short black hair. Various sections were tied haphazardly with twine as if to keep them from her face. Neria touched her face wonderingly and her reflection mirrored the action. _The grown up elf in the mirror is me!_

The only thing she recognised from that image was her eyes. They were the same bright hazel speckled brown that she had lived with for the past three years.

"What happened to my hair?" Neria moaned in despair. She had always been very proud of her long, luxurious ebony tresses.

"You decided that keeping long hair was not suitable for dagger work." Ander answered uncertainly. "Are you feeling alright, love?"

"Why are you calling me that?" Neria turned around to glare at Anders. There was something very wrong here that she could not for the life of her remember.

"And what else should I be calling the love of my life?" Anders wound his arms around Neria's waist and pressed a loving kiss to her neck.

_That smell!_ Neria growled. Daggers appeared in her hands with nary a thought and she plunged them into the fake Anders.

"Never! Ever! Use my friend's face to trick me!" She roared in fury and the demon dissipated into nothingness. Moments later, the scene resolved to the undisguised Fade that Neria was so familiar with. She sighed and looked at her hands again. To her surprise, she was still very much in adult form. _What is this? Why did my form in the Fade change?_

A very familiar figure was standing a few feet away from her. "Beolagh?" Neria narrowed her eyes in fury. "Is this your doing?"

The Pride demon raised both hands in mock surrender. "I know better than to trick you with such parlour tricks."

"Do you have any idea why I am like this?" Neria gestured to her changed form.

"I believe the Desire demon, to which this realm belongs to, likes her victims to actually be adult enough to feel desire." Beolagh offered its theory on the mind of its fellow demon.

Neria snorted in derision and started to walk aimlessly around the desolate scenery. Beolagh followed her only to stop when she suddenly spun around. "This is going nowhere." Neria suspiciously muttered.

"Took you long enough to notice." Beolagh smirked. "You have to create a portal to reach the demon. However, you may be interested to know that a companion was brought in with you."

"Why are you helping me?" Neria tilted her head questioningly at the Pride demon.

"I'm not. I'm thwarting the demon that dared to poach my prey without first seeking my approval." Beolagh lazily drawled.

"You know. I'm starting to believe you do have feelings for me." Neria giggled at Beolagh's scornful expression before concentrating on opening a portal to Zevran. A door appeared and she opened it to find purple swirls of energy were beyond it. She shrugged, glimpsed back at Beolagh with a smile and crossed the threshold.

The scene Neria stumbled upon was of someone was tied with ropes to a contraption with two reels and a huge nautical wheel. Two others were beside it. "What in the Maker's shiny balls is that?"

"That's a rack. Torture device your mortal realm seems to be fond of using." Beolagh informed her dispassionately.

Frowning, Neria walked closer to investigate. A blond haired, bronze skinned elf with the single whorl on his face was the apparent victim. _Zevran!_ Neria walked closer but the two elven looking demons paid Beolagh and her no heed.

"I think I saw him flinch that time." One of them smirked nastily.

"Maybe. We'll make you scream yet, apprentice." The other demon sneered while folding his arms.

"We're not going to go easy on you, trust me." The first demon continued while continuing to turn the wheel.

"No…" Zevran groaned in pain and Neria grunted in sympathy. "I wouldn't…" She saw Zevran stiffen in pain and rage started to flare within her. "want you to hold back. I'd be disappointed if you…" Neria took a huge calming breath as she saw Zevran grit his teeth to keep his moan of pain from escaping. "did."

"This one has spirit. It's a shame we have to break him." The demon retorted sardonically.

"I demand you let him go this minute." Neria stated with cold fury.

"What… what are you doing here? You're not supposed to be… here…" Zevran replied apprehensively.

"What are you talking about? I'm here to help you." Neria huffed in exasperation.

"I can't… I need to stay strong. This is my test. I am going to be a Crow… I need to show them I can tolerate… pain." Zevran answered breathlessly, clearly struggling against the inflicted pain.

"But you're already an Antivan Crow!" Neria cried in vexation. Rage at what the demons dared to do to her new friend causing her magic to fluctuate dangerously. She took another deep breath, counting to ten like Irving had taught her. If Zevran was here, his body would be close to hers. She could not afford to cause him burns by not controlling her magic.

"What? That cannot be, and yet… you speak the truth? I can feel it… Is this nothing but a bad dream? A bad memory?" Zevran raised hesitant and doubtful eyes at Neria.

"Oh, I think he's questioning us. That's a very, very bad thing to do, isn't it?" The demon snapped viciously.

The other nodded his agreement. "Yes, it is. Yes… he will be punished for that. Severely punished."

With that, the demons started to attack Neria. It was to Neria's utter shock when Beolagh transformed into a dark red twelve foot tall monster. Neria knew Beolagh was a Pride demon but it had never taken its true form around her. Its body was covered with sharp spikes and scales. Its hands were sharp, four talon claws. Neria readied a spell to incinerate it in case it wished to turn on her.

"You may wish to limit the use of your spells if you do not wish to hurt your friend." Beolagh stated calmly in a raspy growl. "These lesser demons shouldn't be too hard to dispose with physical means."

Without aplomb, Beolagh swiped at one of the said demons with his talons. Neria got a heady rush from the savagery and engaged the other lesser demon with her daggers.

Zevran was standing at the sides, watching with bewilderment and fright as a monster and beautiful elf fought against two elves who looked similar to the torturers at his last trials. When they eventually triumphed over them, he strove for an indolent act, laying his hands on the rack he had so recently been strapped to and chuckled sombrely. "Well! That was bracing! There's nothing like a good racking, is there?" The exquisite female rolled her eyes and started to speak when Zevran felt a pull in the centre of his being. "Hmm? What are you doing? Where are you going?"

Before Neria's eyes, Zevran disappeared in amidst flickers of light. Beolagh reverted to his preferred form and she heaved a heavy sigh. "Not to put too fine a point to it but you are too young to sigh like this." Beolagh observed languidly.

Neria rolled her eyes again and thought of another door. Another appeared before them. She opened it and walked through without hesitation. On a desolate platform, a female elf who looked distinctly familiar was caged within a nest of thick, thorny vines. A Desire demon, in female form, all horned and skimpily covered, was floating in mid-air just a few feet away from them, almost dead centre of the platform.

Neria nearly doubled over in laughter. "I would like to remind you that I am actually ten and very much a female."

The Desire demon narrowed her eyes and took on the adult Anders' form Neria had woke up to. Neria's eyes immediately flashed, turning obsidian black. Raising a hand upon which an ice blue fireball was forming to epic proportions, she coldly declared. "You may wish to change to a different form before I reduce you to a pile of ashes for taking my friend's one."

A thickly accented voice interrupted whatever retorts the Desire demon may have made. "How did I get here? What happened to all the luscious wood nymphs?" Neria glanced backwards with an amused smirk and Zevran cringed before shrugging airily. "While I have no idea who you are, bella signora, I will help you defeat this foul creature. No one messes with the Antivan Crows."

Neria nodded in acknowledgment before facing the Desire demon again. "Well? What have you to offer?"

"Do you not wish to know your history? Is this not the reason you have risked all to come here?" The Desire demon had morphed into the image of another vaguely familiar elven man with intricate vallaslin on his face.

"Who is that?" Neria asked impetuously before turning to the elven lady trapped in her natural prison. "Who are you?"

"Emma da'vhenan? Is that you?" The elven lady whispered softly. "Emma da'len! You came back!" Glancing fearfully at the Desire demon, she cried feebly. "No, you must leave! She cannot have you."

Neria felt the elven lady draw on the Fade to cast a Flame Blast on vines. However, even before the spell was completed, she sank to the ground grasping her head.

"Fool! You belong to me. You will never escape me unless you provide me with a substitute." The Desire demon flashed a predacious grin at Neria. "Do you wish to replace your mother as my vessel?"

"Mother?" Neria's heart raced in her chest. She moved closer to look at the elven lady. Her face was also decorated with elaborate vallaslin. She had long, shimmering black hair that Neria recognised was so like as her own. Swirling to stare at the form the Desire demon had taken, she recognised her own bright hazel eyes with chocolate specks.

_These are my parents._ Neria felt quite lightheaded. "How is it that she is still here?"

"She promised me her body to save you and her clan. Somehow, she lost it and I have trapped her soul here as penance." The Desire demon simpered. "So? Do you wish to take her place?"

"Don't listen to her! I am already dead. Kill her so that I may move on and finally meet up with emma lath, da'vhenan." The elven lady was grasping the thorny vines with no thoughts to the lacerations they were causing her. "Kill her so that I may be free once again."

Neria heard the sound of daggers unsheathing and knew that Zevran was preparing to strike. Beolagh had changed into his true form once again. With a thought, twin daggers appeared in her hands and she dashed towards the demon with a ferocious battlecry.

Zevran was almost distracted as his jaw dropped at the speed and viciousness of the gorgeous elf. He was taken aback when he recognised Crow training in her manoeuvres. _Well hel-lo! Who are you and how do I get to know you better in real life?_

Fury fuelling through her motions, Neria twirled, parried, spun and slashed brutally at the Desire demon even as Beolagh literally tore it from limb to limb. Zevran suddenly appeared behind it and finished it off with a particularly malicious back stab. He had not appreciated its manipulations of his mind.

The Desire demon curled into itself before disappearing into nothingness. The prison vanished with its conjurer's demise and the elven lady dashed out, enveloping Neria in a tight hug. "Emma da'len. You have grown so much." She smiled through her tears. "You're not so little anymore. But why are you consorting with demons?"

Neria squirmed in discomfort even as Beolagh reverted to his usual form around her. "You know, I never actually asked for his assistance. It was offered freely so I don't believe that counts as consorting with demons."

Her mother glared meaningfully at Beolagh. "They are not to be trusted."

Beolagh raised an eyebrow idly. "Just for your information: I am the only reason this realm is not falling apart right now. You may wish to impart all necessary information before my tolerance ends."

Bustling with indignation, Neria's mother turned around and glazed enquiringly between Neria and Zevran. "Is this young elf your Bonded?"

Neria blushed to the tips of her tapered ears. Zevran laughed lustily before bowing with a flourish. "Zevran Arainai at your service, mia signora. Unfortunately, I have not had the pleasure of meeting with your beautiful daughter until today."

Neria glanced amusedly at Zevran. He obviously did not recognise her as an adult.

"Ma serannas, young warrior." Neria's mother bowed her head in thanks before moving them away from both Beolagh and Zevran. "Emma da'len, you must listen carefully to what I have to say. Ours is the last true blood from the direct descendants of Arlathan when Elvhenan was still the only civilisation. We were further strengthened by the bloodline of Garahel, the great elven warrior who ended the Fourth Blight against the Old God Andoral. However, because of this, our line has been cursed by Andoral. Every fourth generation of offspring results in only one female and that female bears the cursed Gift of Enslavement. Truly it is no gift. There will be many who may seem to love you but this would be an illusion caused by the curse. Only the one who is willing to live for you will be your true love. If you chose wrongly, you may lose magic forever."

Grasping her hands in a strong grip, Neria's mother declared. "Choose wisely, da'len. Your great, great grandmother lost all her magic when she chose to bond with someone she believed was the one for her. That was not the true tragedy. Upon losing her magic, she also lost the ability to enslave him and he left her even though she was already pregnant, claiming he had no control over his mind."

"It is nearly time." Beolagh stated in an uninterested tone.

"Remember my words and heed them well, emma da'len, and dareth shiral."

The realm disintegrated with no further warning.

* * *

><p>Zevran woke from his very strange dream feeling the aches of lying on hard ground without the benefit of a bedroll. He vaguely remembered a sensuous, lithe elven rogue with a violent streak a mile wide and a melodious, sultry voice that brought all sorts of naughty thoughts to his mind.<p>

Beside him, Neria stirred and stretched. She yawned silently before blinking owlishly at him. For just one moment, the image of the older elven rogue from his dream interposed with the little elven girl before him. He groggily shook his head and the vision vanished.

Neria smiled brilliantly at him and Zevran returned it without a thought. Sitting up, she groped for her notebook and pencil. _Do you remember why we are sleeping here?_

"No, dolce bambina, I don't. Did you have any dreams?" Zevran questioned tentatively.

Neria shook her head and smiled guilelessly up at Zevran. Despite his years of training, he could not tell if she was lying or not. _What reason would she have to lie to me? Besides, the bella signora could speak with that sumptuous voice while Neria is very much mute. Not to mention years younger._

Neria bounced up and gazed around. The ground around them was strewn with wild grass, the previously uniform circle of short grass nowhere to be seen. In the place of the pile of grey ash was a staff, blue black in colour with a hooked top. Neria reached for it unthinkingly but Zevran caught both her wrists in his hand instantly.

"I believe that, this time, piccola cara, we should exercise more due diligence?" Zevran raised an eyebrow and Neria giggled sheepishly, flushing to the tips of her delicate long ears. Again, Zevran was struck by an elusive memory of the dream rogue.

She freed a hand, unsheathed a dagger and prodded the staff hesitantly. When nothing happened, she sheathed her dagger again before quickly tracing a hesitant finger on it. Nothing whatsoever occurred. She tightened her hand around the staff and felt a sense of rightness speed through her. This was her mother's staff. There was no doubt in Neria's mind about it. She grinned and glanced at Zevran pleadingly.

"You wish to keep it?" Zevran asked lightly. Neria nodded her head vigorously. "I don't see why not. It would make a good present to the lady mage, yes?"

Neria shrugged and smiled secretively. Zevran kept his sense of frustration at all the little girl's secrets to himself and got to his feet. It was nearly dark even though they had reached the clearing before mid-day. He sighed. "We will camp here for tonight and start back tomorrow. Unless, of course, you wish to stay another day or two?"

Neria shook her head pensively. She had already found out all she could about her heritage. She knew that there was not much use staying here anymore. Her mother's spirit was gone. At least she now knew that she was Dalish and a descendent of the great Garahel, ender of the Fourth Blight. However, she did not understand her mother's last cryptic words and was determined to do more research on this curse. She bemoaned the fact that she would have to wait till her return to the Circle Tower for this. While the library at the Antivan Circle of Magi was well stocked, her grasp of the Antivan language was non-existent. Realising that she was famished, she signalled for Zevran to go gather firewood while she started to prepare a much needed dinner.

She ate absently, without any of her usual enthusiasm for food, rousing Zevran's protective instincts. It was a useless emotion which he never had for anyone in his life. When she did not even request for her dagger lessons but laid down all curled up with the staff on her bedroll, Zevran enquired hesitantly. "Do you not wish to further your lessons?"

Neria rubbed her eyes tiredly but sprung up from her bedroll smiling. She clumsily withdrew her daggers from their sheaths and walked towards him. _She looks ready to fall asleep on her feet._

"Why don't we practise sheathing and unsheathing your daggers?" Zevran proposed gently.

Neria blinked with muted surprise before awkwardly sheathing her daggers and looking up at him, silently prompting him to begin. Zevran chuckled and grinned smugly at her. Faster than Neria could blink, Zevran had his daggers in his hands and back into their sheaths. Her mouth dropped open with astonishment.

Suddenly Neria found that she was not so tired after all. She scribbled rapidly in her notebook. _How long did it take you to master it?_

Stooping to read what she wrote, Zevran looked up to find his face very close to Neria's. There were only inches between them and he felt himself drowning in those warm bright hazel eyes again. Hastily drawing back, he spun away from her, composing himself, and laughed drily before speaking. "This simple action takes years of training. You need to keep doing it until it's a reflexive action, until you can do it even when more than half asleep."

Neria groaned privately. _Years? I don't have years. We'll be leaving within another two weeks and with a month of travel, I'll only have one and a half months before the daggers are taken away from me. I'll just have to practise every day, all day from now on._ Her lips tightened into a determined line.

She started to sheath and unsheathe her daggers as she stood facing Zevran's back. However, somehow, her motions were never as fluid as Zevran's. She glanced at Zevran again and finally noticed that the scabbards of his daggers were holstered in a crisscross behind him.

She traced her fingers over his weapons and sighed enviously. Zevran glanced backwards and frowned at the reaction his groin was having at such a simple sound. _What is she is turning me into?_

Neria looked up at him again and Zevran wondered if she knew the impact her eyes had on people. _How do I get the daggers behind my back like you?_ She showed him her notebook and he pivoted to fully face the perplexing child once more.

Unbuckling the leather straps wound around her hips where her daggers' sheaths were attached to, Neria watched curiously then in awe while Zevran twisted, folded and re-buckled the hip holster into a shoulder one. Whoever made this holster must have been one of the finest craftsmen in Thedas to come up with such a flexible design. Zevran noted the cursive _Wade_ engraved in small letters on a loose strip. He made a note to himself to visit this master should he ever accept a Fereldan contract.

"Your gear is very well made and with much foresight. Where did you purchase them?" Zevran enquired lightly, hoping to dig out more information from the reticent girl.

_It was a gift._ Neria wrote as short an answer as she could and assumed her normal innocent expression. Sighing again at his lack of success, Zevran squatted down to help her buckle up her new weapon holster. He flinched when Neria placed her hands on his shoulders to keep her balance. Starting to withdraw to end this confounded torment, he was stopped by delicate fingers stroking his face. Zevran swallowed against the lump that formed in his throat and peered up to see those bright hazel eyes shining with suppressed hurt. He looked away, quickly extricated himself and stood back before he could make a greater fool of himself.

Her notebook appeared before his face with the words. _Why do you hate me? Why does my touch disgust you?_

Guffawing wildly, Zevran wondered how to explain his reaction to a ten year old innocent. He finally decided that the direct approach may be the best.

"Dolce bambina, I do not hate you. Your touch does not disgust me. It causes reactions in me that would be more appropriate if you were older. Much, much older." Zevran found that he was as much making a statement to himself as to her. Neria tilted her head to the side, a totally confused look on her naïve face.

Sighing stoically, Zevran took the child's hand, lifted the flaps of his pteruges and placed it on his erection. He had hoped to shock the child but it was fascination that bloomed in Neria's features. With a soft smile, she started outlining the edges of his already stiff shaft and Zevran muttered a series of soft curses in Antivan before batting her hand away.

Neria was looking up at him with another baffled expression and Zevran cursed the day he had showed proficiency in languages. This is the Void he was paying for his honest hard work. Taking deep, calming breaths to cool his heated blood, he gritted out. "Do not do that to a man unless you wish to be bedded."

Secretly amused, Neria continued to act puzzled. She knew his meaning all too well in a clinical sense given that she had already completed her training as a Spirit Healer. In addition, she often created contraceptive potions for the more uninhibited residents of the Circle Tower. She had not realised that she was already starting to have this effect on men. _Surely, I am too young? I don't even have breasts or hips!_

Zevran pressed his forefingers to the sides of his forehead, massaging them while sparing a glimpse at the young child. As a Crow, he now had the pleasure to teach various classes for a small fee, pittance compared to what they receive for contracts, although even that was also a very small amount, but he enjoyed teaching. His favourite Seduction classes provided him with all the innocents he could ever desire to corrupt when he had spare time in between contracts. He was always the first to encourage decadence for pleasure and never had to warn anyone against the depravity of men. Quite frankly, he did not know where to start.

"Amata fanciulla, you are may be too young to understand this but men like me could hurt girls like you." Zevran began without any clear idea how he was to continue. "This reaction…" He pointed angrily to his groin. "is more suited between men and women of my age or older." Seeing that Neria was paying rapt attention, he leapt on. "You should not encourage such… erm… attentions until you are older, much, much older. Then the act would only bring you pleasure, if done with the right partner, of course." He finished in a rush of words.

Neria was trembling with the need to burst into laughter but she could not miss this chance to tease Zevran some more. She lowered her eyes to hide her amusement and scribbled feverishly on her notebook.

_Why am I too young to experience pleasure? How old were you when you first had yours? Is there no other way to receive pleasure without getting hurt? If there is, I would like to try it._

She knew there were. She had seen enough of it making her way back to the dormitory after missing curfew while immersed in her books. Neria just wondered how Zevran would respond.

Zevran groaned in frustration at the images Neria's words invoked and decided enough was enough. He schooled his face into an inscrutable mask and coldly replied. "You will have to take my word for it or ask your guardian. Your other question is too personal for our current association and my needs will never be sufficiently fulfilled by a child like you."

Neria flinched at the low blow. She supposed she deserved it but it still rankled deeply. She huffed with indignation, plonked down onto her bedroll with a distinct lack of grace, laid down and turned away from him.

Thanking the Maker for small mercies, Zevran rested on his bedroll as best as he could with the knowledge that sleep would elude him for some time.

* * *

><p>Horror filled Neria as she watched the scene of carnage unfold before her eyes. Humans in unmatched armour were slaughtering elves who appeared to be fighting for their lives. Tree roots suddenly burst from the ground snagging the hapless intruders. She spotted her mother standing at the edge of the clearing near the aravels. A part of her detachedly studied how the Fade had been manipulated to create such an interesting response.<p>

For a very short while, it seemed like the tide was turning and the elves were starting to win with the help of her mother's magic. However, that changed with the introduction of magic with the most unpleasant feel to it that Neria had ever sensed. It was even worse than Entropy spells. Unexpectedly, the clearing exploded into flames and Neria silently screamed when she recognised who had cast it and who was within its victims. Lightning filled the air from an unknown mage, ensuring that the elves' demise.

The last gaze her father had given her mother was full of love and that seemed to aid her mother to shatter the bonds on her mind. The temperature dropped and numerous humans in front of her were encased in solid ice. A short screech and her mother fell, a dirty, bedraggled human standing over her, smiling cruelly, with a glinting dagger.

* * *

><p>He must have fallen asleep after all for something had woken Zevran with a start. He sat up quickly, hands instinctively reaching for his daggers in defense against any assault. Looking over to Neria's bedroll, he discovered the source of the disturbance. Neria was thrashing silently, face flushed with tears and contorted in agony.<p>

Before he even realised he had moved, Zevran was cradling the younger elf in his arms and running his hands over her hair in a soothing gesture. "Neria, piccola cara, it's just a bad dream." She did not wake but her flailing stopped. Tears continued to flow silently from her eyes and her mouth was opened in quiet anguish. "Neria, dolce bambina, wake up."

Despite his fervent requests, Neria would not wake. Zevran felt the walls around his battered and neglected heart cracking in the face of the torment this affectionate little girl displayed. None of his victims had ever stirred such foolish sentiment. In fact, he often took a rather perverse satisfaction in their torture, if required by contract, when they proved to be men or women with malicious natures. Neria could not have been further from his typical victims, even if she seemed to enjoy death a little too much for someone truly innocent.

"Tesoro, please wake up. Whatever is distressing you so is not real." Zevran pleaded, using a word that he never thought he would hear himself use. Anxiously, he sat Neria up in his arms and shook her gently, hoping this would awaken her from whatever had her in its grip. When that still garnered no response, he wrapped his arms around her and whispered soothing words in his native Antivan while rocking her like the child she was in his arms.

* * *

><p>A sense of peace flooded through Neria despite the trepidation caused by the senseless massacre she had witnessed. She found that she had no control over it. She could not leave the Fade. It seemed that the Veil was very thin in this part of the clearing and its memory of the bloodbath was indelibly imprinted here.<p>

She watched her mother being abused and manhandled by the thugs and ineffectual rage flooded her. Neria felt rather than heard the Desire demon's offer to her mother and her mother's agreement to it. Astonished at her mother's duplicity (_had she not been so scornful of Neria's own aid from Beolagh?_), she was shaken to the core when she saw her mother disintegrate to ash shortly after a little fist wrapped around her forefinger.

A litany of accusations flooded her mind. _I killed my mother. I killed my own mother._

* * *

><p>It was all Neria could do to keep the façade of being mute when all she wanted to do was scream her refusal to believe this Fade narration. She threw her arms around Zevran and sobbed unreservedly for her sin. <em>What kind of monster am I? How could I have killed a grown woman at that age?<em>

Soothing hands were moving up and down her back and murmured words slowly penetrated her weeping. Neria grasped her hands tighter around Zevran's neck and cried piteously. She pressed herself closer to him, unconsciously seeking external warmth from the internal cold permeating her.

She felt kisses in her hair. Stunned, she pulled back and stared dazedly at Zevran with her mouth open. Smiling cheekily, Zevran mumbled. "Glad to see that my kisses have that effect on you. I was beginning to think that I was losing my touch."

Unable to keep her mouth from twitching despite the self-repulsion she felt, Neria patted Zevran's cheek and freed herself from his arms. Finding her notebook and pencil, she leaned back against him, seeking warmth and comfort, and wrote. _What kind of monster do you think would kill her own mother?_

Zevran physically flinched after reading the question. He clenched his fists and was about to retort when he pulled the notebook closer to the fire and reread it. _Her. Her own mother. At her age? What kind of organisation does she belong to that does not provide weapons training but makes her kill her own mother?_

For the first time in his young life, Zevran could empathise and feel sorrow for another's plight. He wrapped his arms around the little elf who was still silently crying. "Tesoro, it is always a matter of survival, yes?" Neria looked up dazedly at him. _Yes, I killed an abomination in the making. Not my mother._

Confessing in a soft tone, Zevran murmured. "I, myself, have killed my mother. Well, she was my foster mother but since I never knew my own, killing her was as good as killing my mother." Neria had gone still in his arms. "Sometimes, to survive, we do many things that do not make us feel good about ourselves. However, you must realise that since the matter is done and cannot be undone, there is no point in dwelling on it." Zevran smiled in relief when Neria nestled further into his arms. "We all do what we must to survive. Sometimes, that has to be reason enough for us to do what needs to be done and dwelling on morality is just a waste of time."

Neria slowly nodded. Her world righted itself once again. This was the work of those slavers. If she ever met any in the future, she will unleash this banked rage within her. Exhausted, she found herself cuddling up to Zevran. She was pleasantly surprised when he did not rebuff her. Smiling contentedly, she snuggled into his warm arms and closed her eyes.

* * *

><p>Neria had fallen asleep in Zevran's arms and he was oddly reluctant to move. Shrugging to himself, he laid down on the bedroll, tucked Neria more securely in his arms and proceeded to slumber in the sleep of the just.<p>

* * *

><p>Neria woke up with a small start. For the first time in a long time, she had not been visited by Beolagh in her sleep. Perhaps the trip to the Fade yesterday afternoon had filled his daily quota. Sleepily fluttering her eyelids, she found herself gazing into warm, laughing honey coloured eyes. She smiled happily and rather thoughtlessly placed a soft kiss on Zevran's lips.<p>

Zevran's eyes widened at the openly affectionate gesture. _Brasca! To be unmanned by a little girl! The Void with it!_ He tightened his arms around Neria and refused to let her lips escape from under his. _Maybe this will end these nonsensical effects she is having on me. Surely there will be little pleasure to be had from the lips of a babe._ Neria stilled under his assault, making a soft sound of protest.

The seductor in him immediately took advantage of her slightly open mouth, dove in and exposed the lie that he had frenziedly been seeking to believe. As he plundered the sweet recesses of Neria's mouth, tingles of delightful pleasure surged from his mouth to the very tips of his toes and back up to the top of his head. He lost sight of who he was with, where he was or how he came to be in this sea of bliss. There was only this unending ecstasy.

Neria's eyes widened then closed at the sensations evoked by Zevran's kiss. Never had she imagined there could be this much enjoyment in such a simple action. She nearly moaned but caught herself in time and instead wiggled as close as she could into his arms.

Loud warning bells sounded in Zevran's mind and even though he was sorely tempted to ignore them, he had not survived this long within the Crows disregarding his instincts. He paused for a moment and that was all it took for the impact of his actions to amplify that tiny voice of conscience still remaining in him.

_What the Void am I doing?_ He pushed Neria away and sprung away as if burned. Looking wildly around for some escape, he appreciated the ludicrousness of the situation and slowly raised his eyes to meet the hurt look in Neria's suspiciously shiny ones. When a tear escaped that normally cheerful gaze, Zevran growled with frustration and flopped back down beside Neria.

"Piccola cara, please understand. For the first time in a very long time, maybe in my entire life, I wish to do the right thing by you." Zevran groaned when Neria just continued to weep. "Believe me. Although it might not be at all wise to believe a Crow but that's neither here nor there. You are making this very difficult for me." He realised that he was babbling. He resignedly gathered her into his arms and sighed. "If you had the same training as me and are the same age… Maker forgive me, even if you were years younger than me, if you can tell me that you had even an iota of the same training as me or are not the innocent I know you to be, you would be undressed now and I would show you the symphony of pleasure two bodies could create."

Tenderly wiping tears from Neria's eyes, he declared gently. "You, amata fanciulla, may very well have spoilt all kisses for me." He affectionately caressed her cheek. "That kiss we just shared was the most incredible I have ever had. Trust me when I tell you I have had a lot of experience in this even if I am only seventeen."

Neria blushed and Zevran felt his groin tighten again. He did not know if he should be thrilled that he finally got a response from the little girl or disappointed over his sudden scruples. "Please, Neria, tesoro, don't make this tougher for me. Trust me when I say that this is much harder for me, pun definitely intended there, than it is for you." Grinning cheekily, he placed a chaste kiss on her cheek, a friendly act that he had not committed since he was thirteen and Marta was still alive.

Neria smiled shyly and climbed out of his embrace. Zevran clenched his hands to prevent himself from seizing her again as he already missed the warmth of her in his arms. He watched the little girl rumble through his pack looking for food and water. Never had he allowed anyone in his team of Crows to do this. Just days in her presence and he was getting soft. He will have to harden his heart after he delivered her safely back to the lady mage. A good assassination contract should do the trick.

Neria took out bread, cheese and the salted ham Zevran managed to purchase from the last tavern they passed, slicing everything with one of her daggers. Zevran winced at this abuse of a good weapon and made up his mind to teach Neria on proper weapon care. A blunt weapon can mean a dead Crow.

Taking a small, red fruit from her pack, Neria peeled and deseeded it before placing strips of it over the meat. Placing another slice of bread over the stack she made of cheese, meat and mystery fruit, she offered one portion to Zevran while biting into the other.

Zevran sniffed at the breakfast sceptically and took a tentative bite after watching Neria polish off hers in quick, refined bites. The explosion of taste in his mouth took him entirely by surprise. It was spicy yet sweet and very tasty. For a Fereldan, Neria was full of surprises. Most Fereldans he knew could not stand spicy food. It added another level of intrigue to the young girl that he did not wish to be interested about. _Maker cursed curiosity is going lead to my death one day._

"Shall we go or do you need a moment?" Zevran asked, noticing that Neria had paled at the mention of staying. Zevran wanted to return to Antivan City and normalcy as soon as they could. Any more time in her presence and he may forget how to be a Crow.

_Let's go back._ Neria wrote resolutely. She knew that going back meant shortening her time with Zevran but she wanted to leave this dreadful place before something more frightful makes its way out of the Veil.

* * *

><p>"Where is Neria, Ines?" Greagoir asked for the umpteenth time, voice turning into a fearsome growl.<p>

"I have no idea, Greagoir. Perhaps she found some fascinating book in the library here that she could not put down?" Ines replied without meeting his eyes.

He rolled his eyes in disbelief. "Besides the fact that she can't speak much less read Antivan, would she miss all her meals for the past five days? This is Neria we are talking about, the little mage who needs at least six meals a day?" He raked his hand through his hair in irritation, looking adorably mussed. "First Enchanter Alfonso has started to ask after her and the Antivan Knight-Commander has started to get antsy that nobody has seen her for the past five days."

Ines snorted indelicately. "Why would that peacock be interested in Neria?"

"You've Irving to thank for that. He boasted about Neria's abilities to the Antivan First Enchanter and now he is 'intrigued' to meet her." Greagoir huffed impatiently. "So where is she?"

Ines took a deep breath and spoke in a rush of words. "I sent her to the place where we initially found her so that she would have some idea about her place of origin."

"WHAT?" Greagoir roared, eyes wide in utter incredulity. "You let a ten year old Unharrowed apprentice leave a Circle alone to traipse into a foreign jungle?"

"She was not alone." Ines sniffed in disdain. "I am no fool. I hired a Crow as her bodyguard."

"INES!" Greagoir yelled, temper raging out of control.

"Stop shouting at me!" Ines snapped, eyes flashing with ire. "This may be the only opportunity she may get to visit the place. Maker knows when she would have another chance given the Divine's increasing paranoia."

"Why didn't you get a templar to accompany her?" Greagoir questioned, unable to win that particular argument. "You know her potential, the danger her magic could create. If she gets out of control out there, who would be able to restraint her?"

"I'm not about to trust her with one of those Antivan templars." Ines retorted indignantly. "You don't know how deprived some of them are. Neria alone with one of them?" Ines shuddered. "You were too busy escorting Irving and I have it on good authority that Antivan Crows make the best bodyguards. I have also instructed her not to use magic at all." Peering at the mixture within the flask that she was heating up with a small Flame Blast, she made a frustrated noise when it remained the same colour for two seconds before turning dark purple.

"You would rather trust a guild of assassins and whores than the holy knights of the Chantry." Greagoir griped.

"They are honest about what they do for a living and always deliver exactly what they are paid to do." Ines smirked sardonically. "I paid them a great deal to keep Neria safe. They will keep to their end of the bargain."

"Do I even want to know how you managed to contact an Antivan Crow in the first place?" Greagoir groused.

"No, I don't suppose you do." Ines threw another failed experiment into the designated trash can. The Tranquil would clear out all hazardous items for burning or other disposal. Even if they no longer had any access to their emotions, the Tranquil did not lose their education. Being Tranquil just meant that items normally dangerous to others were harmless or less harmful to them.

"I suppose you have the perfect excuse for her not being around?" Greagoir tiredly stepped away from the laboratory table and started pacing within the confines of the room Ines setup to work in.

"Sure, I simply tell them that I have been working on getting her voice back." Looking up from another flask into which she poured some Concentrator, she grinned. "It would not exactly be a lie. They don't need to know that she is not here with me while I am working."

"I hope you know what you are doing, Ines." Greagoir sighed resignedly. "If they find out, Neria could be made Tranquil."

"Then they will just have to be kept in the dark about it, won't they?" Ines pinned a meaningful look on Greagoir.

He heaved a sigh, acted greatly put upon, placed a chaste kiss on her cheek and exited the laboratory.

* * *

><p>To say that their interactions were awkward after their shared kiss would be like saying Antivan summers were ridiculously hot. Zevran did not know what to make of the soft looks Neria threw him and kept his hands to himself whenever possible. Now that she was aware of him, every touch seemed to cause a delightful blush on her porcelain cheeks. Zevran had to restrain himself from actively seeking to see her flush repeatedly. He succeeded most of the time.<p>

Something he had to admire about the little girl was her persistence in learning to use her daggers. As they tracked through the Antivan jungle, Neria would sheathe and unsheathe her daggers with increasing proficiency. True, the first few times she had done it with the daggers strapped behind her, Zevran had heard a sharp intake of breath that cause him to dart a worried glance at her. Many times, clumsier Crow recruits would cut themselves doing this same action. However, every time, there would be no indication of any injury. He had been puzzled but perhaps, as an elf, she was not as gauche as those humans.

Neria was more thankful than ever for her almost instantaneous recovery rate. She had nicked herself so many times in various places while practising her draw. The inevitable effect of using so much magic, however instinctively, was that she was even hungrier than usual during each meal.

Zevran normally only took breakfast, lunch and dinner with her while looking faintly amused at the rate she could down bread, cheese and ham just two hours after each shared meal. She longed for a hot soup, Maker's sake, she would even make do with hot gruel but as they are not allowed to even stop in a tavern for a hot meal, she had to make do with dried rations.

Finally, when they entered the last town before Antiva City and caught the market fair, Neria put her foot down and demanded Zevran purchase some fresh produce. He had jingled the coins remaining in the money bag Ines had given him and declared it was not enough to purchase food for the next day, given how much Neria ate and still get the vegetables and meat she wanted. When she had pouted and turned those bright hazel eyes at him, Zevran had laughed, recognising the manipulation for what it was. Nonetheless, Zevran found himself resorting to petty thievery to satisfy the little glutton. Observing his actions, Neria wondered if it would be possible to convince Zevran to teach her pickpocketing.

That evening, Neria had proposed they setup camp earlier. After lighting the fire, she had produced an iron cast pot from her pack, rinsed it very thoroughly with sand and water before setting it to boil on top of the burning twigs which she had arranged to support it.

Slicing onions, potatoes, carrots and beef into chunks, she powdered the beef with a fine white powdery substance. With the water had boiled, she threw the onions and potatoes in with a few pinches of an orange powder. Once that mixture had bubbled, she dumped in the carrots and shortly thereafter the beef. Covering the pot leaving a small vent for steam, Neria cleaned up by throwing the various odds and ends into the bushes.

"Not so close to us, it may attract animals. I do not wish to fend off a bear." Zevran had warned, they had been very lucky in this aspect so far in their travel and he did not wish to tempt Fate. Neria had just smiled that little secretive smile before cleaning and sharpening her dagger with his extra whetstone as he had taught her.

After more than seven days of bread, cheese and whatever preserved meat they could purchase, the scent of the stew even only half done was enough to make Zevran's mouth water.

Neria stirred the stew with a ladle and tasted it several times before finally smiling and carefully removing the pot from the fire with linens folded quadruple over the handle. Waiting expectantly for her to dish out his portion, Zevran was chagrined when Neria took out her notebook instead. He knew that look by now. The little minx wanted something from him.

_Please teach me how to pickpocket._

Zevran gawked at her request. "Piccola cara, it is not a skill that may be learnt in just a day." Surreptitiously moving towards the pot, Zevran froze when Neria narrowed her eyes, tipping its contents towards the ground in a threatening glare. "You wouldn't. You love food too much to waste it."

A myriad of emotions flashed across Neria's face, none of which was useful for Zevran to discern if this was a bluff, before she raised an eyebrow cockily and tilted the pot more to its side.

"I will not be threatened by a pot of stew. If you will not share it, I will just have bread. Crows are trained to live with a minimal food." Zevran started digging into his pack.

Neria pouted petulantly before dishing out the rich stew into two wooden bowls. Handing one over to Zevran, she sullenly turned away from him and savoured her first warm meal in days.

Zevran stopped his act and dug in. He trusted Neria enough to know that she would not poison him. She just had too much passion for food to sully it. The rich aroma of the brown coloured stew was heaven to Zevran's olfactory senses. He bit into a potato smothered with the sauce and his taste buds were scintillated by the sheer magic of its taste. It had just the right level of spiciness. The sauce was neither too watery nor too thick. Best of all it was also sweet from the onions and carrots. The beef was soft and tender, biting into it, released the juiciness of fresh meat into his mouth. It was the tastiest meal that Zevran had ever tasted, bar none. _The little imp just makes it so hard to resist her._

As if she knew he was thinking about her, Neria looked up and grinned conceitedly at Zevran. She flipped a page on her notebook and scribbled. _I'll teach you to cook this stew if you teach me to pickpocket._

Zevran knew he was sold.

**Translations**

Bella signora – Beautiful lady

Mia signora – My lady

Vallaslin – Blood writing; tattoos made using blood

Emma da'vhenan – my little heart

Emma da'len – My little child

Emma lath – My love

Da'vhenan – little heart

Ma serannas – Thank you

Dareth shiral – Safe journey

Dolce bambina – Sweet girl

Piccola cara – Little Darling

Amata fanciulla – Beloved girl

Tesoro – Sweetheart

_**Author's Notes**_

_I know I said a fortnight but Neria and Zevran kept distracting me and I just had to finish this chapter before they would leave me alone. So see you all in another fortnight from now._

_I moved Zevran's Fade nightmare here so that dialogue is pure Bioware._

_I would like to thank Corea and Ra'iira The Fiend for your continual support. :) It means a lot to me._

_Thank you Sandrael Lycura for adding me to the list of your favourite authors and author alert. :)_

_That said it really helps my writing to know what people think of each chapter. Please review to let me know if it's a hit or a miss. Please, I beseech you be kind :P More importantly, it would really help if you were specific about how I could improve if you want to cast stones. :)_

_Receiving notifications of people __reviewing__, adding this story to their list of favourites and/or putting this story on their alert list gives me a buzz. :) Thank you all so much for your support, it helps to keep me writing and__ I hope to continue to meet or even exceed expectations in thanks for everyone's support._

_I would also like to thank all the silent readers of this story. :)_


	17. Bloodshed and Tears

_**Standard Disclaimer: Bioware owns all Dragon Age characters and in game content. I own the bits that are left.**_

**Chapter 17 – Bloodshed and Tears**

_9:20 Dragon Age, Antiva City, Antiva – Neria (10), Zevran (now 17)_

_That hurts you know!_ Neria was frowning and pouting petulantly as she flashed her small notebook in front of Zevran's face.

"Ah, piccola cara. You requested that I teach you using the best method I know and confirmed this many times before I started. I did warn you it would hurt, yes?" Zevran grinned unrepentantly. "This is the normal area where it is positioned. You wouldn't have the same satisfaction if I placed it elsewhere, say behind? Or do you prefer a more frontal approach?"

Neria glared at him. She had a good mind to paralyse him and just walk away but she could not risk blowing her cover so close to Antiva City. She heaved a silent sigh and steeled herself for the likelihood of pain.

Sauntering ahead, acting the part of an oblivious pedestrian, Zevran could barely stifle his laughter when Neria brushed against him again in another blatant attempt to remove his money bag from the side of his belt where it had been tied. A quick flick of his wrist and Neria was once again scowling angrily, shaking her hands furiously as if the quick motion would reduce the pain inflicted by the thin branch Zevran had picked just for this purpose.

Neria was dismally pathetic at pickpocketing. All things that involved specific methods, precise movements and practise, she excelled in. Executing unstructured moves was never her strong suit.

Zevran had demonstrated the skill to her many times on the hapless travellers they encountered now that they were nearer to the city. However, despite her intent study of his actions, when it came to her turn to perform it on him, she was always too slow. The branch was an added incentive for her to move faster. He was not sure about Fereldan punishment for pickpockets but getting caught in Antiva as a pickpocket meant the removal of one's hands. It was better for her to suffer his not so light punishments than that more gruesome penalty.

"You need to be more subtle with your approach and quicker with your hands." Zevran reprimanded mock seriously. He did not really expect Neria to be able to pick up the skill within a day. However, he would drill her in all he could remember from those long ago lessons he had learnt. It was a fair trade for the recipe of that sinfully delicious stew that Neria had written down for him.

"You need to think quicker on your feet. Create a diversion or distraction so that the target is preoccupied." Zevran nonchalantly continued. "That is the easier way to do it. Of course, if you could hide in plain sight like me, it would be the best." Shaking his head at the pleading look on Neria's face, Zevran ruefully laughed. "True stealth is not a skill I can teach you in…" Glancing at the not so distant steeples of buildings that attested to their proximity to Antiva City, Zevran looked back at Neria. "…a few hours at the most."

Neria noted his gaze and slowed her steps down even further. On one hand, she wanted to prolong her time with Zevran. He had so many interesting skills that she could learn. If she ever lost her magic, it would mean that she would be helpless if she had no other skills in her repertoire.

She fervently wished she could stay on longer in Antiva to learn the skills that Zevran seemed so willing to impart to her. However, she knew that her time with him was an illusion. An illusion bought with Ines' money. She felt bad about it and had picked as much herbs as she could during the trip. Turning these into potions or poisons should not be difficult and she could sell them to repay Ines. She had her own stash now, selling her potions and poisons to the Quartermaster at the Circle, but she needed more to both repay Ines, purchase souvenirs and find replacement daggers.

She loved her daggers. They felt like an extension of her hands in the few short days that she had trained with them and she did not wish to relinquish them due to foolish Chantry rules. She would have to find similar weapons here to turn over to Greagoir once they reach the Circle Tower.

Thinking off the top of her head, she sprinted in front of Zevran, spun around and recklessly barrelled straight for him. The suddenness of her action took Zevran by surprise and he instinctively dodged to prevent Neria from bruising his more sensitive parts.

Triumphantly jingling the small black pouch that held the last of their coins, Neria flashed Zevran a brilliant smile while he helplessly chuckled at her audacity.

* * *

><p>Ines was very pleased to see Neria. There were only so many ways to evade questions on where the little apprentice was in these ten days without rousing suspicions.<p>

"Did he suspect?" Ines questioned urgently. Crows were well known for their discretion when it was bought but Ines had not paid extra for this, trusting in Neria's discretion, but the talk with Greagoir had her second guessing herself.

"No," Neria laughed merrily. "He thinks me a rogue with a strange fascination for herbs."

Ines shot Neria a questioning look. "He didn't do anything… Did he…" Ines struggled to phrase the pertinent question properly.

"He was the perfect gentleman, too perfect if I do say so myself." Neria chuckled at dubious look on Ines' face. "Nothing happened, Ines, even if I did kiss him."

"Neria! What did I tell you about not being a cock tease? One day you will meet someone who would not take no for an answer." Ines scolded while labouring to stifle her laughter. "Poor boy… He was what? Eighteen?"

"Seventeen. I am not a cock tease. I'm just ten. There is no way I could be a cock tease at my age. I'm not even a woman yet, nothing for a man to lust after." Neria guilelessly stated while fluttering her eyelashes at Ines and gesturing at her still childish form.

"You don't fool me, you little vamp. You enjoy that power you have over men. Right now it's still harmless. Maker help them when you do grow up enough to use all the wiles available to a grown woman and become perceptive to their reactions." Turning to a row of potions she had lined up on the worktable, Ines did not see Neria's stunned look then furtive smile. She breathed a sigh of relief that the little girl was finally safe and sound back at the Antivan Circle. After her confrontation with Greagoir, Ines had been on tenterhooks about the little apprentice's safety. "Well, since we were supposed to be working on a cure for your lack of voice. I suggest we start straightaway."

"I can already speak." Neria scoffed, peering curiously at the labels on each flask in spite of her words.

"I seriously doubt that you would wish to sound like a skilled Antivan courtesan with the body of a child." Ines remarked drily. Neria raised an eyebrow at that, wondering if she dared to ask Ines how she would know what a skilled Antivan courtesan would sound like. _I think that should be saved for a later time._

"I made several options for you. Pick one that you like and drink it thrice a day for maybe two years, twice for another two and once for another two. Stop when you think you can safely speak like you do now without any repercussions."

"Seriously? What would I sound like drinking these? What do they do?" Neria stared sceptically at the contents of a flask she casually picked up, lightly shaking it.

"Hopefully, a child. Theoretically, they soften your vocal cords so that they vibrate faster each time you speak resulting in a higher pitch. It's not permanent though and hence the need to take regular doses." Motioning for Neria to start, Ines pulled out a piece of paper and a pencil to note down the effects of each flask.

* * *

><p>After taking that long anticipated hot bath once he had deposited Neria back with the lady mage in the Antivan Circle, Zevran immediately paid a visit to one of the brothels known to cater to men and women with appetites for much younger bed partners. Detailing his needs to the proprietress who looked more matron than seductress, Zevran was ushered into a small, utilitarian room which featured only a large four poster bed.<p>

He made himself comfortable on the bed, all the while wondering what the Void he was doing here. Never in all his years of depravity had he ever considered such an act. However, after the responses that little Neria had stirred in him, Zevran had to confirm for himself if the effect was only due to Neria or he had unexplored tastes he had not discovered within him.

The door opened and a young elven girl entered the room. Her long black hair and hazel eyes met his requests but Zevran felt there was something missing in her smile. He stared into her eyes and realised that her wide, welcoming smile did not reach her dead, brown eyes. This was not someone who enjoyed her trade. As she crossed that short distance between them, Zevran gave a snort of utter disgust and left. He did not want this girl. He did not want just any black haired, bright hazel eyed young elven girl, willing or otherwise. He wanted Neria and no one else.

Storming back into the little room he shared with Taliesen within the tannery district, he brusquely woke the human up before proceeding to live up to his reputation in Seduction among the Crows. That night Zevran took Taliesen in as many creative ways as possible, including some ways that if one was not flexible, not at all plausible. Exhausted, Taliesen had sunk into a deeply sated sleep beside him. Zevran was not so lucky. No matter how physically tired he was, his traitorous mind would not turn from his memories a certain young elven girl. The most damning of this was he was not even focused on their kiss, incredible though it was, or her body but her eyes and her smile. Disgusted, he spent the night berating himself for such foolishness and useless sentiment. It was unlikely that they would meet again.

* * *

><p>Zevran kept his perpetual mask of lascivious bemusement firmly on even though pandemonium had already erupted in his mind. Master Frediano had just informed him that he had accepted the contract for the demise of Alfonso, the First Enchanter of the Antivan Circle of Magi and his entire cell of Crows.<p>

Everyone in the House of Crows knows that First Enchanter Alfonso was no mere mage. He was a Crow Master first, mage second. His ascension as the First Enchanter of the Antivan Circle had been bloodily forged by his cell of Crows and he has continued his reign of terror for the past fifteen years, mercilessly slaughtering any who dared challenge him or seemed overly ambitious. The Antivan Chantry and Templar Order all feigned ignorance of his methods. Looking further into the "accidents" that occurred within the Antivan Circle ensured that the investigator also met with one.

The man may look like a peacock but he was shrewd as a fox, cruel as the deadliest sand storms in the wastes of Antivan deserts and highly paranoid about his personal safety. The man never travelled anywhere without at least four of his highly trained personal guards. All his food was taste tested before consumption as he had no proficiency in poisons.

Zevran was generally an optimist but this was ridiculous odds. Master Frediano's cell totalled a mere seven excluding the master himself while First Enchanter Alfonso had a personal army of fifty or more which included blood mages.

Besides this, there was still the College of Magi currently assembled at the Antivan Circle. Zevran could not imagine that the other First Enchanters and Knight-Commanders would take too kindly to Crows dropping in to murder their host.

He stifled a long suffering sigh. He supposed that he only had himself to blame for this. After Zevran became a Crow, the failure rates of contracts taken by Master Frediano's cell decreased to the point of non-existent. Due to the size of Master Frediano's cell, no one within the cell had to bid for contracts. Any contract accepted was executed by the entire cell.

It never failed to surprise Zevran and his other teammates that someone so young would excel in battle strategy and deployment. However, he was and after that first fracas when a member of his cell, just a little older than Zevran, had challenged his authority and met with a fatal end under Zevran's daggers, everyone just took to listening to him. Well, that and the fact that Taliesen made it known he was Master Frediano's lover.

Lover was a gross overstatement. Zevran considered himself more Master Frediano's whore. There was no tenderness in their interactions, only pain, pleasure and release. It was a necessary chore to keep the lecherous man happy enough to assign leadership to Zevran for plum assignments.

Zevran never touched those with poor pay or poorer chances. He loved the little luxuries that his scarce remuneration afforded him. In addition, a failed mission equated a dead Crow. He much preferred life but there was no way to refuse this contract once it had been accepted. It would mean either ultimate glory for or utter destruction of Master Frediano's entire cell.

"Well, you know what to do. Get to it and make it happen." Master Frediano dismissed him with an impatient wave.

* * *

><p>Zevran was hiding in the shadows, taking his turn to observe the comings and goings of the Antivan Circle. It was barely three in the morning and only a few templars were patrolling the grounds. A small figure detached itself from the shadows once their backs were turned. Intrigued, Zevran moved to follow the clandestine form as it slipped away from the main building, skirting the wall but always keeping to the darkness afforded by the trees and various other structures scattered around the premises. His eyes widened when the shape walked right through a section of the wall. Touching it with curious fingertips, Zevran gasped silently when his hand failed to contact solid brick but passed straight through.<p>

Mind racing over the implications of this, Zevran trailed behind the silent individual marvelling at his ability to use the darkness. It was not true stealth, just very clever uses of the dimness and light steps to evade detection, but effective nonetheless.

The person started running once he was far enough away from the vicinity of the Antivan Circle. Zevran trotted to keep up and managed to track him to a nearby park. The moon finally came out from behind the clouds and Zevran huffed in exasperation when he recognised the multi-hued beribboned head.

_Does she never sleep?_

Neria stopped in the area she had discovered four afternoons ago while out with the templar she managed to charm into escorting her to the nearest park and, later, the marketplace. After her excursion through the jungles of Antiva with Zevran, the stone walls of the Antivan Circle had begun to feel strangely oppressive and she did not wish to remain indoors. Thus it was that she would wonder around Antiva City in the afternoons with the nearly retired templar. She also needed to find a pair of daggers that at least looked similar to the pair Teyrn and Teyrna Cousland had given her.

She unsheathed her daggers, proud when they now slid free without a sound, though she was still far from Zevran's proficiency, and started with the slow movements Zevran had taught her. She added a few more that she had picked up just that afternoon, watching an Antivan street dancer in the marketplace. It had looked beautifully graceful and exotic when performed by the dark skinned beauty and Neria hoped she managed to capture it within her own movements.

Smiling happily, she hopped, spun, slashed, twirled and leapt in the air feeling a deep sense of peace descend upon her. When she had first requested for Zevran to teach her to use her daggers, she had never imagined the physical exertion could aid so much in focusing her thoughts and feelings. Through executing the prescribed movements, her sense of equilibrium was centred and she no longer felt at sea from the revelations learnt from her excursion.

Neria had always thought that the people in the Circle Tower were all friendly and kind. No one was ever truly cross with her no matter the pranks she pulled or scrapes she got into. Everyone was quick to coddle her because she had been the baby of the Circle. Many had watched her grow from baby to toddler to the little girl she now was. She thought that was the reason she had always managed to get out of trouble no matter the situation. Now she wondered if the curse had something to do with it. Was everyone in her life enthralled? Did no one truly care? These thoughts were wiped away as she poured her heart and soul into the effort needed to remember all the necessary steps and stances.

Zevran watched the little girl fluidly execute each movement with a subtle grace that brought magnificence to the deadly dance he had only started to teach her two weeks ago. He noted with the satisfaction of a proud teacher that she had managed to get the actions nigh perfect as if she was a talented Crow recruit he had personally trained.

Her movements started to change after a turn that marked the last of all Zevran had imparted to her. Arching her back, she threw her arms back and one leg rose so that her body was almost parallel to the floor. Waving her arms sinuously, she bent further backwards, leg rising for counterbalance. When her head nearly touched the floor, the one leg she still had on the ground sprung and kicked up. Her body twisted and her other foot landed firmly on the ground whilst its counterpart took its place in the air.

Dipping her head upwards as if she was rising out of a deep pool, Neria rose up on her tiptoes, leapt, spun in the air and threw out her arms exuberantly. The look of pure joy on her face called to a part of Zevran that he had thought was long dead and buried. He ruthlessly suppressed and resisted the urge to make his presence known.

It was already unbearable that he had strangely realistic dreams of the young girl every night when he did manage to fall asleep since he had left her. The worse of it was that they were not even lurid dreams but ones where they would talk like old friends and Neria would pester him to teach her the various Crow skills he had mentioned offhandedly to her during their excursion. The enthusiasm in her smiles and the happiness he felt afterwards for pleasing her were unnatural and unnerving.

Zevran felt a sudden explosion of temper flare inside him. The little dolt was frolicking in a deserted park in the middle of the night within a city filled with thieves, spies and assassins. He felt like throttling her in vexation. He convinced himself that was the reason he was approaching her, silently creeping towards her.

Neria had felt eyes on her for quite some time now. This was a sixth sense honed from having templars watch your every movement at the Circle Tower. Some of them really do while some managed to master the art of standing upright while asleep. The sixth sense had often aided Neria in deciding when would be a good time to get up to mischief.

While Neria had been curious about the identity of her watcher, she could sense that the person was in no way a danger to her. When Zevran walked out of the shadows cast by the stand of trees, she was not startled but pleased. Sheathing her daggers, she cheekily grinned and spoke in a singsong voice. "Missed me?"

Zevran's jaw would have literally dropped if he did not have total control over his facial expressions. "I thought you were mute?"

Neria shrugged. "I was brought to Antiva to see Ines so that she could cure my injury. I was not always mute. It was the result of an unfortunate accident." The lie rolled off her tongue with practised ease. The voice she now had was as close to the voice of a young child as Ines' potions could create. It was not too high pitched, soft and sweet.

"Didn't anyone tell you that it is dangerous to roam the streets of Antiva in the dark?" Zevran snapped making a mental note of the lady mage's apparent ability to create miracles plus Neria's intriguing importance as an individual to warrant such travel and expense. "Any numbers of criminals roam here."

"Then it is good that you are here to protect me." Neria flashed a bright smile up at him.

"…I am one of those criminals when I have not been paid to protect you." Zevran snorted, deliberately turning his gaze cold, calculating and deadly.

Neria scoffed haughtily and rolled her eyes. Zevran frowned as an elusive memory flashed before his eyes, disappearing before he could make sense of it. "You wouldn't hurt me." The little girl asserted impudently.

"…Are you positive about that?" Zevran smiled toothily, reminding Neria of the pictures she had seen of Antivan jungle cats baring their teeth. To her great sorrow and Zevran's even greater pleasure, they had not encountered any of these sleek predators during her excursion.

The hairs on the back of her neck suddenly prickled and she whipped around, daggers out without conscious thought. Zevran felt that odd swell of pride for her near proficiency.

A lanky human young man with short cropped dark hair was standing in the shadows eyeing Zevran and Neria with avid curiosity. Neria raised an eyebrow at him challengingly while mentally sifting through her repertoire of spells frantically searching for one that would be least likely to give her away and still render any threat he may post harmless.

Zevran heaved a sigh behind her. "Taliesen, what are you doing here?"

Talisen blinked and closed the distance between Zevran and himself. "I was supposed to take over your shift, remember? I was making my way using the shortcut across the park when I heard your voice." Leaning in to speak in Zevran's ear, he whispered urgently. "What are you doing here? You know this contract is of great significance to Master Frediano. He'll kill you and all of us as well if we fail."

"If he kills us, he will have to start doing his own dirty work. That is as likely to happen as a dock whore is likely to remain pox free." Zevran hissed back in anger. "Enough talk. She is not one of us."

Neria's ears twitched. Despite the faintness of their tones, she had heard everything. She may get teased mercilessly about her long elven ears but they had their uses. She grew cold inside as she wondered who their target was. _Surely not Ines, Irving or Greagoir?_ She casually re-sheathed her daggers and turned to Zevran with a raised eyebrow. "Who is your target?"

"That, piccino, is none of your concern and strictly Crow business." Zevran stated with finality.

Neria's eyes flashed with irritation, turning obsidian. "If you will not tell me, I will alert the templars and mages that the Crows are targeting someone within the Antivan Circle."

"Dead girls don't talk." Taliesen uttered in a menacing tone, daggers suddenly appearing in his hands. Zevran placed a hand on his friend and stared at the defiant little girl. She had not backed down at the face of this threat. In fact, if Zevran were forced to describe the emotion blithely displayed on the young girl's face, he would have incredulously pronounced it as savage anticipation. _What a bloodthirsty little girl she is._ Zevran felt his loins tighten at the thought and nearly groaned in frustration.

"Taliesen, go take up your post. I'll handle this." Zevran shoved the human towards the path to the Antivan Circle before he could act on his threat. Taliesen looked uncertainly at Zevran before turning away to do as told when Zevran glared sternly at him.

Neria raised an eyebrow in disbelief at Zevran, he had withdrawn his daggers from their scabbards, very clearly undaunted. She did not move an inch even when he prowled ominously towards her. He pressed a dagger to her throat and she just beamed sweetly up at him, reaching out to hug one of his legs with both arms.

Muttering a string of Antivan curses that would have caused a dockside whore to blush, Zevran hastily re-sheathed his daggers and extricated himself before she could further increase his state of arousal. "Why don't you have the good sense to be afraid of me? I am an Antivan Crow. We are assassins. We kill people for a living."

"I believe that you would never intentionally hurt me." Neria intoned sweetly as she smiled serenely.

Zevran huffed despairingly. "I'm not sure if that makes you an ignorant fool or me an incompetent Crow." He squatted down to face her. "Are you really going to tell on us if I don't reveal the identity of our target?"

Neria's eyes darkened again and she nodded resolutely. After a very short internal debate where his instincts rode roughshod over his suspicious nature, Zevran mumbled. "Alfonso, the First Enchanter of the Antivan Circle, and his entire cell of Crows."

Neria chortled wickedly. "That's too easy!"

"Easy? What do you mean easy?" Zevran enquired with great interest. Perhaps the little elven rogue knew something about the First Enchanter that would give them a fighting chance given that she lived in the Antivan Circle.

"He doesn't taste test all his chocolates, just the ones with individual types."

Zevran narrowed his eyes at the little imp in front of him. "And you would know this because?"

"I saw his lover deliver a box to him. He immediately opened it and made each of his bodyguards eat a piece. I very politely asked for one but he refused to share. Such a miser he is when he gets a box every other day." Neria pouted then grinned mischievously. "I followed his lover when she went to get it. She used that section of the wall you followed me out of."

Zevran felt an irrational urge to laugh. All that worry and planning for a full scale attack and it may only take a single piece of chocolate to end such a prominent target.

"Ines promised me that I could get chocolates to bring home to share with the others." Neria mumbled, stealing a glance at the preoccupied assassin. "Perhaps I could help you?" She had nothing personal against this Alfonso but in just a day within the Antivan Circle, she could sense the menace and malice of the man despite his ready smile.

Having spent four days in the Antivan Circle, with her nocturnal habits and propensity to wander around, she had uncovered some atrocities that seemed barbaric to her but accepted by all others. Ines had told her not to interfere as she was only here for a short time while the victims may be beleaguered upon her departure. The way the apprentices and mages stuttered, stammered and flinched when they were around the Antivan First Enchanter did not exactly bolster his act of kindliness towards the other First Enchanters and their delegates.

"You do realise that we are not seeking to protect him?" Zevran enquired hesitantly.

Neria chuckled with great amusement. "I'm not a fool, Zevran. I know contracts taken and executed by the Antivan Crows mainly entail assassinations. If removing him would help to dispel that constant feeling of fear within the Antivan Circle, I would like to help." She would also like the opportunity to see the great Antivan Crows she had read about doing what they did best. Her mouth curved with a decidedly sinister grin.

Zevran felt a strange thrill of fear and excitement travel down his spine seeing that deadly smile. Yes, the little girl would have made an excellent Crow recruit.

* * *

><p>It was a simple plan. Neria would bring Zevran to the chocolatier and he would make further plans based on the reconnaissance done. Waiting impatiently for the young girl, Zevran nearly did a double take when he saw her in an apprentice's robe with a templar trailing behind her. She made for a store selling dwarven made weapons and started browsing the daggers on sale.<p>

"What the Void do you think you are doing?" Zevran whispered urgently to Neria as he stood behind her examining the selection of short swords.

"Less questions, more action. Follow us without the templar's knowledge when I exit this store." Neria muttered under her breath while her eyes glinted with unholy delight over a pair of daggers that looked almost similar to hers. "How much for those?" She indifferently asked the diminutive storekeeper.

"Fifteen sovereigns." The stoic proprietor answered.

Neria narrowed her eyes at the merchant. "Those are not even dwarven made. You expect me to believe you came by them through legal means? Fifteen silvers and I will take these stolen goods off your hands."

"You have some nerve accusing an honest trader." The vendor was red in the face and Zevran felt to be protesting too much.

"You are a swindler and I could report you to the authorities for hawking ordinary metal as dwarven steel." Neria whispered deviously. "Or you can accept these fifteen silvers and give me those daggers."

"The Stone take you!" The merchant muttered furiously before swiping the proffered money off Neria's hands and shoving the desired daggers at her. "Get out and I never want to see you here again."

She smiled sweetly at the raging dwarf, kept the daggers in her pack, turned and dashed through the marketplace before sprinting into another alley that led to the quieter residential parts of the city. The templar followed her doggedly, jogging to keep up with the fleet footed little girl.

Zevran took off at a run into an alley that was parallel to the one Neria had turned into and scaled the wall nimbly to perch on the roof. Neria had stopped, panting and leaning against a side wall. The apprentice robe she had on was drawn up to her knees while she examined her left ankle. The templar rushed in, took one look at her state and collapsed against the other wall, also panting.

Neria turned those bright, hazel eyes at the templar and pled innocently. "My ankle, Ser, it hurts so. Would you take a look at it for me?"

The templar grunted, removed his helm and swept his sweaty grey hair away from his face. "You shouldn't run like that. The cobblestones may cause a bad twist if you are not careful." He scolded while bending down to gently take Neria's foot in his hand.

"I'm sorry." Neria apologised contritely and covered the templar's nose and mouth with a large strip of linen. The templar gasped in disbelief and lost his grip on her ankle. Zevran watched spellbound as Neria gripped the templar's head firmly in her small hands and continued to smother him until he lost consciousness. Lightly resting his head on the cobblestone floor where she placed the drugged handkerchief, Neria uncorked a small flask, tilted the templar's head and poured it down his throat.

"Do I want to know why you are murdering templars now?" Zevran slithered up to the little girl just as she got up to stow away the empty flask into her pack.

"He's not dead." She snorted derisively. "Just incapacitated for the next few hours." Stealing a mischievous glance at Zevran, she started unbuckling the templar's armour.

"What do you think you are doing?" Zevran protested vehemently as Neria insouciantly stripped the man.

"What better disguises than a nondescript apprentice escorted by a knight of the Chantry?" She smirked while throwing a plated pauldron to him. "Nobody ever suspects them of anything nefarious."

Zevran looked down at the plain servant's clothing that he had been wearing and shrugged. Perhaps the little minx was right. The helm would keep others from knowing that he was an elf and ensure his identity remains a secret.

"Here, drink this. It helps to increase your strength temporarily so that you would be able to move with so much more weight than you are used to." She drew a clean gambeson out from her pack. "Oh, and this is what goes underneath first. I didn't think you would want to wear his after he had walked from the Antivan Circle to the marketplace in this weather. I'll just be look away. Tell me when you are done."

Noticing the light blush on Neria's face as she looked down, Zevran could not stop himself from teasing. "You know, if you wanted to get me naked, you only needed to ask."

"I do not…" Neria looked up in outrage just as Zevran had removed his cuirass. Heat rose to her cheeks and she quickly looked away again without continuing. Zevran felt his own face flush unexpectedly. _Great! Now I am blushing just because a babe saw my torso? I seriously need a better sexual distraction than Taliesen. Perhaps one of the more willing female Crows._

He put on the gambeson and the various parts of the heavy templar armour, buckling everything that he could reach. Clearing his throat loudly, he gruffly muttered. "I'll need your help with some of these buckles."

Neria looked up blankly, a myriad of thoughts sweeping across her face, and completed his efforts. Handing him the helm, she indicated that he should put it on and precede her out of the alley. Once Zevran's back was turned, Neria quickly cast Force Field, Misdirection Hex, Glyph of Warding and Spell Might on the area around the templar and Zevran's neatly folded armour. _That should keep anyone from seeing this until we get back._

Zevran started to turn around when he realised that Neria was not following him. She ran ahead of him so that he would hopefully follow and not bear witness to her handiwork. When Zevran started after her without a pause, Neria breathed a sigh of relief. _I'm sorry but it's best if you didn't know I'm a mage._

"Let's go, Ser. I am anxious to get chocolates for my friends back in Ferelden." Neria's eyes twinkled as she winked at Zevran before leading him to the First Enchanter's chocolatier.

The shop that Neria had led Zevran to was one frequented by the merchant princes of Antiva. Slipping into the store, Zevran watched with bemusement while Neria gazed in fascination at the variety of chocolates sold. Given her age and nationality, perhaps she really was that mesmerized. As far as Zevran knew, only Orlais could top Antiva when it came to production of fine chocolates.

Flitting around the premises, Neria spoke to each shop assistant, engaging them in discussions about the various types of chocolates, how they were made and their ingredients. Somehow each shop assistant would beguile the little girl with all their knowledge drawing in other customers with their descriptions. Once each shop assistant was engaged with another customer, Neria would flit away to another. At the end of her trip round the small shop, all the assistants were busy with other clients and none were near the back entrance to the kitchen. Neria winked conspiratorially to Zevran and quietly made for the door.

An elderly elven man was just removing some of the most exquisite confections Zevran had ever seen from small ice runed moulds. Neria squealed in delight and snatched one up to pop into her mouth. Immediately, a dagger flashed from the shadows and Zevran barely got the templar's sword out in time to deflect it from sinking into Neria's throat. Neria paled and turned eyes bright with tears to the woman who had stepped out from the shadows.

"Such impertinence! These chocolates are especially made for the First Enchanter of the Antivan Circle." The woman with russet curls and sensuous curves sneered. "A mere apprentice dares to steal what is his?"

Neria turned those wide hazel eyes brimming with tears at the elderly chocolatier. "I'm sorry…" she sniffed piteously. "I didn't know. They just looked so delicious. I've never had chocolate before." A tear slid from her eyes and Zevran nearly snorted in amusement. The little minx really had the act of manipulation down to an art. He convinced himself of this as he fought the urge to murder the other Crow for making the little girl cry.

"Dorotea! Enough! She is just a child." The elderly man patted Neria on the head while offering her a seat. "I can always make another. It would only take a minute. Would you like to watch child?"

Neria gave the old man a shy, tentative smile. "May I? I don't wish to cause any trouble for you, hahren."

The old man laughed heartily. "Hahren?"

"I was taught to always greet the elderly with respect as they have lived and experienced more than we can imagine in our young lives." Neria bashfully replied. "Unless you mind me calling you that, hahren?"

The old chocolatier chortled delightedly. "No, piccino, I don't mind. This is my kitchen and I can invite anyone I wish to watch me." Reaching for the batch of chocolate warming over a small fire, he pointedly stared at the female Crow who still had her weapons drawn. "It is good to finally have an appreciative observer."

Neria's gasps, gawks and breathy exclamations filled the kitchen as the elderly chocolatier created yet another confection from chocolate removed from the same mould where Neria had previously filched her first chocolate. "That looks super delicious!" Neria excitedly reached for it again. A throwing knife sank itself beside her hand.

"Enough of this! The First Enchanter is not a patient man. This batch is already late." Dorotea hissed and seized the box as soon as the old chocolatier completed wrapping it in gold coloured paper. She removed the throwing knife and left with nary a word of thanks.

Neria hopped off the chair she had been perching on and reached for the moulds. "Let me help you wash them, hahren." She carried them to the basin, poured water over them and started scrubbing them enthusiastically. With a hopeful backwards glance, she asked. "If I'm really good, would you teach me how to make those heavenly creations?"

* * *

><p>In the end, Neria not only managed to coax the elderly chocolatier to teach her the techniques for making some of the confections, they also left the shop with twenty large boxes of the shop's best confections.<p>

Zevran was greatly amused. He had an idea how little Neria wished to help with the contract but her efforts to duplicate the elderly chocolatier's creations had been drab to say the least.

"How long before you think you would be able to create a confection that resembles anything like these?" Zevran smirked gesturing to the boxes he was carrying.

Neria arched an eyebrow in puzzlement. "Years?" She worried her lips. "I don't think the ingredients are readily available in Ferelden for me to practice. Why?"

Zevran frowned worriedly. "Was it not your plan to poison Alfonso with one of these chocolates he is so fond of?"

Neria laughed hilariously. "Yes, it was and he probably would not live to see tomorrow's sunrise."

"What?" Zevran turned to gaze at Neria in astonishment. "Why would you say that?"

"Because I've already poisoned that last chocolate the hahren made." Neria smiled with evident anticipation.

Zevran nearly gaped but questioned instead. "How? What poison did you use?"

Neria raised an eyebrow. "You didn't really think that I would snatch anything without permission? That would be just rude." Deadly anticipation filled her eyes. "It's a cocktail I made just for him. Concentrated Magebane, Concentrated Crow Poison and a dash of Lanthrax. It should not kill him immediately, this combination normally takes some time to take effect."

A particularly vicious smile appeared on Neria's lips. "While I was wandering the halls last night, I heard him give one of the younger apprentices to his personal guards for entertainment despite her pleas for forgiveness." Her eyes flash with ire, turning obsidian. "The world has no need of such people."

"Remind me never to get on your bad side." Zevran chuckled apprehensively. Neria's voice had been cold as death as she intoned those words.

Just like that, her eyes reverted to bright hazel and she flashed him a brilliant smile. "I don't think you could unless you seek to assassinate me."

It took a while before Zevran's mind processed the ingredients of Neria's lethal concoction. He blamed the heat he was suffering from within the plated armour. "How did you get the recipe for Concentrated Crow Poison? It is not something readily available for sale."

Neria giggled and sped ahead of him. She had no intention of telling him that he had shared it with her during one of her visits into his dreams. Beolagh had indolently mentioned to her that she was invading the young Crow's privacy by not telling him what she was doing, comparing her behaviour with that a demon but she had simply waved away his concerns. She wanted to learn all the skills she could in case she ever really lost her magic. She did not know if she could still do this at the Circle Tower.

Neria had found herself connected to Zevran's dreamscape when she had first slept upon returning to the Antivan Circle. She was angry to find Zevran trapped in another nightmare where he was imprisoned in a hole in the ground with sharp spikes all around. She knew there was a chance that dreams were not real but she had the sinking feeling that these were all Zevran's darkest memories.

So she had made him aware of her presence before reshaping the Fade into the jungle landscape they were both familiar with. In them, they would sit and chat and he would introduce various Antivan food and pastries, Crow skills and poisons. She had always found talking to Zevran simple and fulfilling. Zevran was a very generous teacher and taught all that he could, and never sought to horde any knowledge to himself. Neria was free to express any thoughts no matter how repulsive and he would give his opinion without judgement.

She was unsure if this was due to him believing that nothing was real in the Fade or that he was really that open. She had a strong feeling it was the former and had started to feel uneasy about taking advantage. However, in her mind, ends do justify means. She would tell him when she had learnt all she could or before she left.

She scurried ahead of him, dispelling the wards she had cast on his armour and the well-meaning templar before Zevran had even reached the entrance of the alley. Neria turned away again while Zevran shrugged out of the heavy, hot and stifling plate armour. She handed him a towel without looking up and took another flask from her pack when Zevran touched her shoulder to let her know he had completed changing back into his armour. This she set aside as she motioned for him to help her get the templar back into his.

She propped the templar up with Zevran's help and slipped the fluid from the flask into the templar's mouth. Gesturing for Zevran to leave, Neria picked up the templar's hand and grasped it around her ankle before sending a very small Heal spell into the templar. He immediately woke, eyes blurrily focusing on her.

"Ser? Are you alright?" Neria innocently enquired. "You have had your hand on my ankle for quite some time. Is it really twisted?"

The templar reflexively closed his hand around Neria's ankle in a squeeze then released it in a rush. "No, it is not twisted. I think the weather has finally gotten to me. The heat is too sweltering."

"Oh… Do you need help to carry the boxes then?" Neria ingenuously offered.

"What boxes?" The templar was clearly astounded by the twenty large boxes surrounding him. "Where did these come from?"

"We bought them from the chocolatier we visited just now." Neria replied with nary a blink. "Are you feeling alright, Ser? Perhaps we should hurry back to the Circle so that you may rest."

"Yes, yes. We should rush back. It is rather late now." The templar gathered the boxes in his arms as if they weighted no more than a feather, turned and headed for the Antivan Circle. Neria knew it would not take much to convince the old templar that they had been to the chocolatier together. His similarity in size to Zevran had not been the only reason for Neria to seek him out for this afternoon's jaunt. The fact that he was almost close to retirement due to his lyrium addiction was another. The lapse in his memory could be easily attributed to that by him and his peers. Neria only needed to supply their supposed history for the past few hours in case the embarrassed templar needed to report their outing to his superiors when they arrived back at the Antivan Circle.

Zevran once again marvelled at the little girl's ingenuity. She had the wit of a much more mature person and, he comforted himself, perhaps, that explained his obsession with her.

* * *

><p>That evening, Zevran and the other members of his cell entered the Antivan Circle through that section of the outer wall that was not really there, a literal bolt hole for the Antivan Crows under Alfonso's employ, for their final assault. From the revelry within the dining hall and the kitchens and the relaxed stances of the other occupants of the Antivan Circle, Zevran knew that Neria had somehow managed to engage the entire Circle in celebration, a rare occasion for everyone in it.<p>

By early morning the next day, they were all in place and he signalled the member in charge of poisoning the Crows' pastries to proceed. Neria had shared that the Crows only ate pastries and not the hard bread served to the mages and apprentices in the Antivan Circle. Zevran had to wonder at the foolishness or complacency of these Crows. _Did they really think themselves invincible?_

* * *

><p>"The First Enchanter is dead!"<p>

"Poisoned by Crows!"

"Found by servants this morning, blood trailing from his eyes, ears, nose and mouth."

"Who's going to be First Enchanter now?"

The whispers, if they could be called that given their volume, surrounded the Fereldan mages as they sat down for breakfast in the great hall. Neria did her best to look appalled at the news but felt Ines' sharp glance on her. _Oh well… I never really managed to keep anything from her yet._ Irving paled when a murder of Crows led by Dorotea tramped into the dining area like a host of vengeful angels.

Her gaze swept across the hall silencing all talk as she searched for her prey. She levelled an enraged glance at the leather clad Neria and stomped up to her. Greagoir was out of his chair at a speed Neria found astonishing with the massive armour he wore.

"We will take this traitorous little whore into possession for the murder of First Enchanter Alfonso." Dorotea announced without preamble, motioning to the other Crows around her to seize the young apprentice.

Neria widened her eyes at the accusation. _Surely she had not seen me laced the mould or she would not have left so peacefully._ "I have not seen the First Enchanter since the day before yesterday. How could I have murdered him?" She turned eyes bright with tears to Irving, Greagoir and Ines. "I spent yesterday afternoon with the nice chocolatier hahren and that friendly templar uncle. The chocolatier hahren taught me how to make those not so good looking confections I gave you." Tears fell from her eyes as she gazed at the Crows in front of her.

The men Dorotea had sent to take Neria into custody hesitated. With Neria's performance, there was not a single person in the room who believed the sweet, little girl was in any way involved in the First Enchanter's passing. She was not even Antivan but a Fereldan and everyone in Antiva knew them for their forthrightness.

"Do you have any proof of this?" Greagoir angrily retorted. "This is a very serious accusation to level on such a young girl. In addition, should this case not be handled by the Chantry?"

Dorotea flushed in agitation. In truth, there was no proof of Neria's involvement. All facts pointed to Crow activity but she just a very strong hunch that the young apprentice was somehow mixed up in it. She was about to speak when Ines' dry tone cut her off.

"You do realise that Neria was in the dining hall and kitchen all yesterday evening, passing out boxes of chocolates to celebrate the recovery of her voice?" Ines remarked drily. "Even though the First Enchanter was here, he did not partake in any of the food or drinks. It has always been his habit to eat and drink alone. Although that did not stop him from getting poisoned."

Dorotea was about to speak again when a black tipped, black fletched arrow buried itself in her foot. Chaos immediately erupted in the dining hall. Ines quickly ushered their little group out through the nearest exit which by some stroke of luck, they were sitting very close to. Sieving through her memory, Ines shot a suspicious glance at Neria. It had been her idea to sit so close to the exit this morning.

"The Antivan Crows sends their regards." The words were vaguely heard before blood curdling screams erupted from the room. "We are only interested in those under previous First Enchanter's employment…"

The words were drowned by the frenzied voices within the dining hall and further cut off by the solid oak door as Ines dragged Neria away from what would most likely be a massacre.

Her eyes narrowed when she saw a look of disappointment flit across Neria's face before it reverted to her innocent mask. Signalling for Irving and Greagoir to follow her, she towed Neria into her room and sat down with a huff of exasperation. "These Antivan Crows will take a while to sort out their differences." She levelled a disconcerting look at Neria. "Perhaps it's best if you make preparations to leave immediately to avoid unnecessary questions."

It took all of Neria's self-control not to squirm under Ines' penetrating gaze. She met her eyes without flinching and guilelessly asked, "May I go purchase more chocolates? I gave out more than I intended to yesterday evening."

Greagoir and Ines stared at each other, silently communicating without words. "Perhaps, it would be better if she was away from here. I will escort her there. You and Irving you can get our luggage out of here without mishap?" Greagoir continued on Ines' nod. "Even if the ship cannot sail immediately, it may be safer to stay there until it can."

So it was that Neria found herself hustled from store to ship which was miraculously ready to set sail once they had boarded it. She had purchased another fifteen large boxes of the marvellous chocolate confections from the old chocolatier. He had been delighted at her patronage and gave her a little notebook filled with recipes and instructions for her to create her own in Ferelden when he learnt she was leaving.

Her only regret was that she had no idea if Zevran survived the impossible.

* * *

><p>Master Frediano had been ecstatic at the results of this contract. He was full of praises for Zevran's planning and execution. Even though Zevran had very little to do with the death of the Antivan First Enchanter, he bragged about it to keep Neria's involvement a secret. It would not do for anyone to know the little elven girl had been involved.<p>

The strike within the dining hall was a success given the odds. Seven against fifty, with only two fatalities within his cell, and the other cell had been totally decimated. When the rest of the Antivan mages and apprentices, the other delegates having fled, had been assured that they were only after the remnants of the previous First Enchanter's cell, some had even helped. It was obvious that there had been no love lost between them and the occupants of the Antivan Circle. The poisonous cocktail that Neria had shared with him had also indubitably reduced their opponents' combat abilities making them relatively easy kills for Zevran and his teammates.

He had waited for Neria in the little park near the Circle wishing to share the details of the attack but the little girl did not show up for her pre-dawn exercises. In the end, he went back to his little room and had fallen exhausted into a deep sleep. There had been another disturbingly realistic dream about her.

"Did you get hurt?" The dream Neria asked.

"What? The fabulous Zevran? Not even a scratch." Zevran grinned and caressed her cheek. "All thanks to your lethal brew. They didn't even know they had no means to fight back until they drew their weapons."

"Great! I assumed that they are all dead?" Neria grinned maliciously.

"Every last one of them." Zevran confirmed, smiling at the satisfied gleam in Neria's eyes.

"I'm on my way back to Ferelden. Greagoir and Irving deemed the situation too dangerous to remain in Antiva. A lot of people heard Dorotea accuse me of murdering Alfonso." Neria muttered sadly.

Zevran felt that sinking feeling of disappointment that he had not felt for a very long time. Even though this was a dream, he did not allow his feelings to manifest. Scoffing loudly, he dismissed her concerns. "Everyone knows it was executed by our cell now. They will not pursue this any further." He continued in a scornful voice. "The new First Enchanter is a relative of the current Antivan Grand Cleric. I would not be surprised if she was the one to engage us for this contract in the first place."

Neria beamed at him, pulled him down and kissed him lightly on the lips. "I don't know when we would be able to meet again. So farewell, my friend. May our ways be guided by Ghilan'nain so that we once again cross paths."

-0-

_9:20 Dragon Age, Circle Tower, Lake Calenhad, Ferelden – Aneirin (17), Anders (15)_

There may never be a better chance. The new elven kitchen maid had similar height, build, hair and eyes as him. Aneirin's only regret was that he would not get to bid farewell to the friends he had made for these three years. They were the only rays of light in this Creators forsaken place. He had not wanted to make any friends but Neria had somehow wormed her way into his heart and he could no more deny her offer of friendship than he could stop the flow of time. The group had bonded over mischief and mayhem largely thanks to the little elven girl. She was that candle in the darkness for him. Unfortunately, one solitary candle could not defeat an eternal darkness.

Everything was in place. He had to act before something scared this one away. Only the stout hearted and nimble stayed on as servants at the Circle Tower. Besides the high possibilities of being singed, frozen or accidentally plummeted by a misaimed stone fist, there were the harmless and not so harmless tricks the apprentices got up to with glyphs and other unauthorised spell combinations. This one probably would not last another week given her reaction to that little prank Kinnon had played on her.

Aneirin had placed a Glyph of Paralysis on the maid's way to the lavatory before her trip back to mainland. She had done this every time since she had started work here and Aneirin prayed to the Creators that she would not choose this night to change this habit as he laid in wait for her.

_There she is!_ The maid was immediately paralysed when she stepped on the glyph and Aneirin hurried out to bind her eyes with a bandage stolen from the infirmary. He gagged her with another cloth before removing her clothes and covering her with his discarded robes. Swiftly changing into her threadbare blouse and patched skirt, Aneirin dragged her into a darkened corner and tied her to a tree. He ran for the boat while tugging his hair under the kerchief she had on her head.

"About time you came, bloody knife ear." Kester grumbled loudly. "Get on board quickly so the rest of us can make it home for supper."

Aneirin bowed his head in submissive acknowledgement before taking his seat right at the back. As the boat glided away from the Circle Tower, his heart felt free for the first time in a very long time. No more shemlens forcing themselves on him. No more walls without any natural light. No more asking for permission before playing in the sun. No more imprisonment. _I am free._

* * *

><p>The Circle Tower was in an uproar. A maid was found trussed up against a tree, naked except for an apprentice robe covering her. They were all roused from bed in an hour before dawn for a head count and it was soon determined that the escapee was Aneirin.<p>

Anders was initially as shocked as the rest of their friends. For Aneirin to have escaped so quickly meant that he had already planned this for quite some time. The anger was secondary. He felt that he had betrayed. Aneirin clearly did not trust him enough as a friend to share his plans with him despite Anders always being there to help heal him after each session of abuse at the hands of the templars. He was not sure if it made them closer as friends but he had started to develop a deeper sense of affection for the older elf than for the rest of their group. Aneirin obviously did not have similar feelings.

A team of four templars were sent with his phylactery to hunt him down. In spite of his hurt feelings, Anders could only hope that they were not the same four who had been abusing Aneirin on a regular basis.

* * *

><p>He was hunted. He did not know how they tracked him but track him they did. Even though he wore clothes of a woman, did not use any magic even to light a fire on the cooling nights, they were on to him. Every village, every town he passed through he could not stay for more than a night before they were there, asking around for an elf of his description. His luck finally ran out in a village not far from Dragon's Peak. One of its more gossipy inhabitants had described a red headed female elf that matched their description but not a male.<p>

The templars immediately caught on that Aneirin was still in disguise and he cursed the day he had helped the old lady pick up her belongings. It was not something he would have normally done. However, the kindly looking old shem lady had seemed so lost when the handle of her bag tore off and all her items dropped to the ground. Aneirin could not just stand by and watch her scrambling to pick up her goods like the other shemlens.

He nearly screamed in frustration. _Just once, could I not be rewarded for doing good?_ Thus it was that instead of moving on to Denerim to see his family one last time, he determinedly turned towards the Brecilian Forest after stealing some man's clothes from still wet laundry to find and stay with his Dalish cousins. From the books Neria had shared with him, the Dalish were much more tolerant with magic users and no templar had the authority or temerity to capture a Dalish mage protected by a clan.

* * *

><p>"Where do you think you can run to, knife ear?" The voice that Aneirin thought he would never hear again nearly brought him to his knees. Turning, he found himself facing four templars. "Some guts you had to run away from us." Dangling a small brightly glowing crimson glass vial on a short chain from his hands, the templar laughed harshly. "Do you know what this is?"<p>

"Stupid knife ear probably doesn't even know its use." Another voice joined in a jeering tone.

"He needs to be taught to mind his betters before we haul him back to the Circle Tower." The raspy voice was accompanied by the removal of breeches.

Something in Aneirin snapped. To be so close to freedom only to lose it was devastating to his psyche. Any day now he would find the Dalish elves, he just needed more time. He was not going back to that prison where magic was deemed a curse and the so called keepers abused more than protected. He was not going back to that abyss without a fight.

Aneirin cast a Mind Blast on the templars which, miraculously, managed to stun them before they could smite him. Turning to the lead templar who had been his main tormentor for the past three years, he cast Crushing Prison before starting on another Mind Blast. However, his luck did not hold out. One of the templars recovered quicker than the rest and immediately smote him.

Drawing his longsword, he slashed Aneirin from shoulder to chest. The Crushing Prison stopped immediately and the lead templar's grunts of pain ceased. The other templars also recovered and drew their weapons against him. Aneirin felt a sick sense of satisfaction at the fear he could sense from them.

The lead templar gritted out tersely. "What are you waiting for? Kill him!"

"He could heal you. He was training as a Healer. Aren't they the most valuable mages?" The templar who had slashed Aneirin asked. "Killing him would be such a waste. Let's just teach him a lesson and cart him back." The other templars hesitated, looking between the two speakers.

"Very well. Heal yourself, apprentice, and let's have some fun." The lead templar sneered.

"You can have your fun… over my dead body." Aneirin grasped the templar's long sword and impaled himself on it. _Free at last! This, at least, is my choice._ He smiled a beatific smile.

"Maker! Is he insane?" The templar withdrew his longsword out of Aneirin with a sickening squelch. Gushes of blood flowed down the front of Aneirin's stolen peasant wear.

"We… We have to help him!" One of the hesitant templars stammered.

"I have health poultices and bandages!" The other was rummaging through his backpack.

"I will need those. He is beyond the help of health poultices. He turned maleficar, fought and we had to kill him. Is that understood?" The lead templar declared resolutely. The phylactery in his hand was no longer glowing; it was flickering weakly and its light looked to be going out very soon. Snorting in anger, he crushed it under his plated boot.

"You are leaving… him to bleed to… death? Sweet Andraste… We can't… do that!" The templar with the longsword stuttered nervously gazing from Aneirin to the lead templar and back.

The lead templar had unsheathed his weapon. "I have no problem reporting to the Knight-Captain that Ser Rhodri had unfortunately perished at the hands of the maleficar."

"Ser Alrick, please…" The templar who had been frantically searching his backpack spread out his hands in a placating gesture. "We can leave now and still make it back before the Knight-Commander comes back. He is the one who is most likely to ask questions given that this one is friends with his favourite."

Ser Rhodri frowned thoughtfully at Aneirin who had fallen to the ground with blood loss before sheathing his longsword. "I'm not dying for some knife ear whore. Let's head back before Ser Greagoir returns."

Ser Alrick walked up to Aneirin and kicked him in his face viciously with his plated boots wishing to dislodge that blissful smile. "Your little friends shall take your place."

Aneirin's eyes were glassy but a tear still slid down his face.

**Translations**

Piccola cara – Little Darling

Piccino – Child

Hahren – Elder

_**Author's Notes**_

_A slightly early update. :) Be back in another fortnight._

_I would like to thank Corea for your continual support and reviews. :)_

_I would also like to thank cbrstrshp, YukinaAmonYoukai and Eona for your reviews. :)_

_Thank you RivalAdmirer19 for adding me to your list of author alerts. :)_

_In addition, I would to thank DoctorPopeSamuel, LadyEdea and Eona for adding this story to your list of favourites and cbrstrshp, YukinaAmonYoukai and kiyob for adding this story to your alert list. :)_

_That said it really helps my writing to know what people think of each chapter. Please __review__ to let me know if it's a hit or a miss. Please, I beseech you be kind :P More importantly, it would really help if you were specific about how I could improve if you want to cast stones. :)_

_Receiving notifications of people __reviewing__, adding this story to their list of favourites and/or putting this story on their alert list gives me a buzz. :) Thank you all so much for your support, it helps to keep me writing and I hope to continue to meet or even exceed expectations in thanks for everyone's support._

_I would also like to thank all the silent readers of this story. :)_


	18. Take Care of the Seeds Sowed

_**Standard Disclaimer: Bioware owns all Dragon Age characters and in game content. I own the bits that are left.**_

**Chapter 18 – Take Care of the Seeds Sowed**

_9:20 Dragon Age, aboard a vessel bound for Highever – Neria (10), Greagoir (40), Irving (50)_

Greagoir heaved a deep sigh as he gazed distractedly out at the waves that were only visible due to the few lamps on deck. He needed to think and the cabin he shared with Irving was too stifling even with the First Enchanter asleep. He felt like pacing but years of discipline prevented him from acting on it.

It had been strange meeting Ines again after three years of physical absence but constant letters. Despite the closeness he had felt in their correspondence to each other, actually interacting with her face to face was vastly different. However, he could not identify the change, it was as if a wall had risen between them that he did not comprehend or breach. The only time he got a glimpse of the Ines he knew, the Ines she still was in her letters, had been when she willed it, like a window opening unto her real self for a short while before shutting him out before an impenetrable wall.

He sighed. Things had only gotten worse when he had questioned her on the wisdom of sending Neria into the jungles of Antiva with only a Crow for protection. They had not spoken after that altercation until Neria finally returned. Between accompanying Irving on the various meetings during the College of Magi, he had not had the time to truly speak to her and ask all the things he wanted to before discovering Neria's disappearance.

Now he wished he had left it alone. The man in him had riled at the Knight-Commander part of him for wasting this chance. After all, the only reason he had accompanied Irving and Neria on this trip was to see her. To travel for a month across the Waking Sea and Amaranthine Ocean just to spend three weeks in the furnace that was an Antivan summer before travelling back the same way for the same amount of time was not Greagoir's idea of a good time.

He heaved yet another sigh, looking up into the starless sky this time. Perhaps it was just as well that there now seemed to be an insurmountable chasm between the two of them. She had always been the stronger of the both of them, making all the right decisions. Knight-Commander that he was, there would never be a future for the both of them. Besides, he was uncomfortable with the blatant way that she flouted Chantry rules to get things done. It was best to keep his distance before she further warped his beliefs and render all he had sacrificed pointless.

Neria breathed a sigh of relief when Greagoir finally retreated below deck. She had sneaked up from her cabin to get in some practice and relieve the strange ache in her heart that started since she resisted the temptation to visit Zevran in the Fade. Her initial belief that there needs to be proximity between the both of them for it to succeed had been disproven after two weeks at sea.

Each night, she only had to think of him and a portal would appear that led to his dreamscape. It was disconcerting to Neria that she had become so connected to the young Crow. The dreams he had were disturbing but Beolagh had warned her against further meddling. Even though she wanted desperately to dispel the horrors Zevran experienced each night, she would force herself to turn away and escape into the blankness that was raw Fade. It did not get any easier but she was no longer a part of his life. She would not subject him to her presence in his mind. It did no one any good to dwell on could have beens.

Each day, she would ponder on the words that her mother spoke and each night her heart would ache for someone to hold her and tell her that everything was going to work out fine. However, there was no one she could share this secret. Irving would neither understand nor condone any non Chantry sanctioned magic. Greagoir would probably take the opportunity to make her Tranquil. Therefore, nightly, she poured her frustrations into physical exercise, becoming a whirlwind of daggers and limbs. This helped to clear her mind so that outwardly she was still the lovable and inquisitive Neria the crew adored. She would not succumb to despair. It was not beneficial and a total waste of time. She will enjoy herself until she had more information on this curse, whatever it was and however it may affect her.

-0-

_9:20 Dragon Age, Antiva City, Antiva – Zevran (17), Rinna (14)_

Once the contract for the First Enchanter's demise was completed, the status of Master Frediano's cell alleviated from small and non-threatening to up and coming. That meant more Masters were wary of them and sought to nip the problem in its bud. Every time Zevran or other members of their group left the neutral territory that was the Crow recruit training facility, they would be set upon by Crows from other cells.

It got so irritating that Zevran craftily suggested to Master Frediano to take the initiative to reduce the numbers of their enemies by the usual way or some sort of diplomacy. Unfortunately, it turned out that Master Frediano was not too gifted with words and Zevran had ended up whoring himself out to appease the different Masters he inadvertently offended. Of course, if they ended up dead and their cells assimilated into Master Frediano's, that was just part of a vicious rumour circulating the city. The details of their gruesome deaths had kept many stout hearted and strong stomached citizens from their meals upon its telling.

The attacks finally stopped after the size of their cell reached more than seventy and that was when Zevran met Rinna again.

* * *

><p>The female apprentices were all flustered and jittery after Master Frediano announced that the great Zevran Arainai was going to hand pick one of them to be his personal apprentice. As the size of the Master's cell increased so did the amount of work and, apparently, his lover did not wish to spend too much time on training that did not yield any profit.<p>

"I wonder if he is as handsome as they claim?"

"I heard he can turn you on with just words."

"They say that he's so fast with his daggers, they are a blur."

"Those tattoos of his are supposed to be all over his body."

Rinna snorted. The Zevran she remembered was a lanky albeit handsome boy who did not care to be kissed. While ten years and Crow training could change a person drastically, she doubted he was as fabulous as the rumours.

The door to their dormitory opened and a young elven man sauntered in after Master Frediano. Rinna's eyes were instantly drawn to his face. The sharp elven features were more manly and distinct with two swirls of dark brown inked into the side of his face, almost begging her to trace them with her fingers. Her heart stuttered then started racing and Rinna felt warmth spread up her face and down to the pit of her stomach when he smirked at all the room's occupants. Audible sighs were heard from around her and she squashed the urge to join in, mentally rolling her eyes in exasperation with her fellow apprentices and herself.

She stood as rigid as she could as he meandered through the meagre space and chatted with each apprentice. Finally, he stopped in front of her. His eyes swept from the top of her long, curly burgundy coloured hair that she had managed to tame into interlocking braids at the back of her head, to her ocean blue eyes, slender body, dainty limbs and back up again in a smouldering gaze. Rinna felt her face flush under his considering gaze and stiffened her back, looking straight ahead, focusing intently on his cuirass.

"Undressing me in your mind?" Zevran quipped and to Rinna's mortification, she flushed a deeper red.

The sardonic smirk on his face barely slipped a fraction when Rinna glared and retorted. "I am not interested in bedding a whore who has probably slept with half the city."

Gasps were heard from those closest to Rinna at her audacity but to her frustration, Zevran merely chuckled wickedly. "I will have to teach you how to discern rumours and truth." Turning to Master Frediano with a roguish smile, he beckoned at her with a fingertip. "I'll take this one. I like her spunk."

"Don't you have to observe them training before you make your decision, Zevran?" Master Frediano asked doubtfully. "I want someone who will eventually be an equal to your skills not just another pretty face."

"Time can be taken to train skills but spirit has to be there to break and mould into a useful tool." Zevran confidently stated before smiling conspiratorially at Rinna.

-0-

_9:20 Dragon Age, Cousland Castle, Highever, Ferelden – Neria (10), Elissa (9), Fergus (15), Nathaniel (14)_

The whole of Highever is in celebrations. Apparently, Emperor Florian's niece, daughter of his youngest sister, Celene, had ascended the Orlesian throne. The sixteen year old had immediately expressed her interest in ceasing the hostilities between the two countries. Teyrn Cousland had led a diplomatic delegate to Orlais and secured trade agreements that were lucrative for both countries.

Irving and Greagoir were of a mind to leave Highever without meeting the Couslands again but the Maker obviously had other plans. As they were hurrying to the mews to retrieve their mounts, they met Teyrna Cousland and her children giving out food to the poorer vassals within the village.

"It is a great pleasure to meet you again, Teyrna Cousland." Neria smiled radiantly as she dipped into a deep curtsy.

"Neria! Your voice!" Eleanor gasped in surprise before looking to both Irving and Greagoir for an explanation.

"I was sent to Antiva to see Senior Enchanter Ines so that she could cure my injury. I was not always mute. It was the result of an unfortunate accident." The practised lie rolled off her tongue before either of them was able to reply.

"I'm glad that you found good fortune in your travels." Fergus grinned at the little elven girl to whom he owed his life to. His breath hitched when she raised her brilliant hazel eyes and gave him a dazzling smile. He felt his loins tighten within his breeches and a light flush travelled up his neck. _What in the Void is wrong with me?_ Fergus fought to calm down even as his mother made ready to leave for the castle. He ducked his head and hunched in a bid to hide his awkward condition.

Neria frowned at Fergus' reaction. It reminded her so much of Anders that she was more than a little perturbed. _Was this the curse in action? I can't even smile at others?_

Elissa was silent as she stared at Neria openly. In the two and a half months that she had been in Antiva, Neria had acquired a light brown tan and looked even more exotic. She was also much more comfortable in her leathers, moving with a grace that Elissa only managed to attain after years in the same.

"You must stay with us tonight and join in the celebrations." Eleanor offered without preamble. "That is if you do not have any reason to rush back to the Circle?"

Irving and Greagoir exchanged looks before Greagoir nodded in agreement. Neria beamed in anticipation. She loved a good party but the only holiday celebrated within the Circle Tower was Satinalia and that was only once a year. She could not wait to eat, drink, laugh, dance and even learn to sing some new songs if they had a minstrel.

The one thing that Neria had missed the most after her "accident" was humming out the odd tune learned during each Satinalia from visiting minstrels. She had always been fascinated with how a gifted minstrel was able to stir emotions with tune and words. It was like a magic form that was not taught within the Circle Tower and Neria was determined to master it. She never had an audience so she could not gauge if she was good or just plain awful. She decided that she would put her voice to the test at the Cousland celebrations. After all, they were unlikely to ever meet again once she returned to the Circle Tower.

* * *

><p>Fergus' eyes sought out Neria despite the numerous admonishments he gave himself while changing for the festivities. At his mother's insistence, she had changed into a gown Elissa had never worn before it got too small for her. It was a lacy, white velvet dress with beads sewn into the bodice and a big satin bow tying its victim into the contraption. Elissa had taken one look at it and ran the other way. However, Neria obviously had a higher appreciation of the attire. Fergus watched her pick her way carefully through the crowd, taking great care not to get mud on her new slippers. The moment she saw him, she flashed a bright smile and Fergus felt his throat going dry once again.<p>

"I think Teyrna Cousland and Elissa will be taking a little longer." She quipped with a twinkle in her eyes. "I didn't think Elissa was enamoured with the attire the Teyrna had picked out for her."

"You are just being polite." Fergus could not help answering with a smile as well. "Knowing my sister, she is giving my mother a headache with vehement protests and threatening to come in her leathers."

Neria laughed, a trill of silvery laughter that caused others around them to turn to her in fascination. Fergus felt a strange heat creep through him and glared in annoyance at the others before grasping Neria by her elbow. "Let me introduce you to some friends of mine who have come to join us in celebrations."

Fergus led Neria away from the interested spectators around them and towards where he last saw Nathaniel and Thomas Howe. He struggled with his turbulent emotions, something he usually had little trouble with as he had been trained since birth by his parents to keep his emotions close to his heart and not on his sleeve. He desired the little elven girl and it horrified him. She was clearly just a child and he had only just started to be aware of the opposite sex. However, the usual objects of his focus were much older and more voluptuously endowed.

He stifled a sigh of relief upon spotting his stoic friend standing near his younger brother beside the tables groaning under the weight of all the food placed on them. Thomas was piling his plate with sweet breads and puddings while Nathaniel was grousing on his choice of sustenance.

"You will make yourself sick if you eat all that." The dark haired boy stated brusquely as he slapped Thomas' hand away from another helping of sweet rolls. "Finish what you have on your plate before taking more. I doubt you can finish them as it is."

A petulant look appeared on the younger blond. It ruined his perfectly good looks and the squeak of his voice did him no credit. "You've no right to order me around! I will eat all I want!"

Nathaniel smacked his younger sibling on the back of his head. "Last I checked, I am still the older brother here. You will listen or I will tell Mother and let her nag at you."

"You wouldn't!" A dismayed look appeared on the young boy's face. "Void take it! I'll finish this and come back for more. You'll see!"

Thomas stomped away, curtly bowing to Fergus, bearing his heaped plate. Neria smothered a laugh at the disgusted look on Fergus' face. He obviously had no love for the pintsized noble. She turned curious eyes on the serious looking, older boy who was still shaking his head.

"Nathaniel, I would like you to meet Neria, literally my saviour." Fergus gestured to a momentarily stupefied Neria. She had not expected that sort of an introduction. She quashed the urge to cast her eyes downwards as the teenaged noble stared down his impressive nose at her. Mischief dancing in her eyes, Neria sank into a very proper curtsy, all the while smiling up radiantly at him.

Instantly, the ice in his eyes melted and Nathaniel's mouth quirked upwards in answer. Fergus had never seen Nathaniel warm up to anyone so quickly. He felt a flare of irritation when he recognised the look of speculation his friend was casting between Neria and him.

Nathaniel felt strange, friendly feelings stir within him for the petite elven girl in front of him. He bowed perfunctorily in return and, finally, unable to suppress it, a smile appeared on his face.

"Why are you bowing and smiling at a knife ear?" A voice thundered over the noise surrounding them. Neria turned to see another noble, a much older one, sneering at Nathaniel, Fergus and her.

"A gentleman should always answer a lady's curtsy with a bow, Father." Nathaniel answered as if from rote.

Very obviously rolling his eyes at his son's dour retort, Rendon Howe narrowed his eyes at Neria. "She is no more a lady than the pigs in the Cousland's sty."

Without missing a beat, Neria turned to Fergus. "Wow! I knew your family is nobility and all… But even your pigs are noble? Isn't that a little too much? Do you eat them? Or are they just kept for their ancestry? No good for anything else other than the blood that runs within them?"

The cleverly disguised insults within the questions startled a laugh from Fergus, a suspicious sounding cough from Nathaniel and an outraged gasp from the Arl. "I will have you flogged for your insolence." He clamped his hand down on Neria arm and tightened it into a vice.

Before Fergus could protest, Neria smiled icily at the older noble, her eyes having darkened to dark obsidian. "You may wish to remove your hands before they are permanently detached from your body."

The Arl's sneer faltered a little before his nostrils flared as he glared menacingly at Neria. "I will enjoy breaking your spirit, knife ear."

Neria's eyes sparked with barely restrained ire and an audible woosh was heard as she ignited in blue flames. Arl Howe screamed in a decidedly unmanly manner as his hands were engulfed in the flames and his skin blackened. He let go of Neria and raced to the nearest water barrel and plunged in his hands.

Neria chuckled wickedly while Fergus and Nathaniel stared in dismay after the Arl. They turned frightened eyes on the little girl but she simply smirked. "Don't worry. It was just an illusion. Let's get out of here before he realises that."

Nathaniel turned to see his father's thunderous expression as he lifted perfectly unscathed hands out of the freezing water before grinning and motioning them away from his irate parent.

* * *

><p>"You scared me there!" Fergus let out the breath he had not realised he had been holding and laughed heartily. "Did you hear the way he screeched? Like a little g-g-girl!" He managed to speak around his mirth.<p>

Nathaniel scowled at his friend and levelled a penetrating glance at Neria. "What was that?"

"An illusion, of course. I do not have the habit of maiming a new friend's father immediately after being introduced." Neria replied imperturbably. "I did warn him. I do not appreciate being manhandled or called names. He's lucky to have been your father or he would have had a more permanent reminder." Her eyes glazed into cool obsidian before she blinked and it was that bright hazel again. "I hear music. Is there to be dancing already?" She bounced excitedly on her slippered feet and grabbed both their hands, stalking determinedly towards the joyous melody.

Fergus and Nathaniel glanced at each other helplessly and shrugged. Neria's mercurial moods were perhaps a part of her being a mage.

* * *

><p>Elissa found her brother standing to the side in the crowd circling the dancing couples. She nervously smoothed out the aquamarine gown that her mother had insisted she wear or be subjected to a month of proper lady's training with Deliah's mother. She capitulated without another protest. Deliah's mother was the epitome of a gentle lady. She would have gushed and keeled over at Elissa's penchant for trousers and weapons training.<p>

"Where's Nathaniel? I thought you would have found him by now." Elissa asked while discreetly looking around for her fellow rogue. She liked Nathaniel. He always treated her like an equal, disregarding her age or gender. He was the one who had first taught her to wield daggers when he had found her awkwardly and wildly flaring with the practise ones that Fergus had discarded.

When Fergus did not answer, Elissa narrowed her eyes in anger at her brother and was about to stamp on his foot in retaliation when she realised his attention was fully on the dancers within the circle. She glanced in the direction he had been watching so intently and saw a smiling Nathaniel dancing with an equally pleased looking Neria.

Elissa felt a strong stab of pain in the regions where she supposed her heart was supposed to be. Nathaniel had always been a stoic and taciturn boy and it only worsened as he grew older. In all her years of knowing him, she had never seen such an expression on his face. It made him even more handsome than he already was and Elissa was angry that it was so easily directed at Neria, a virtual stranger.

The music rose to a crescendo and faded. Nathaniel twirled Neria back into his arms and swept her up above him before slowly bringing her down, very close to his body. She was openly laughing up at him by the time her feet were back on the ground and Fergus let out a frustrated growl.

Elissa raised a surprised gaze at her brother. Since becoming a teenager, Fergus had kept most of his feelings close to his heart as her father had always expounded on the necessity for this skill within the nobility. Fergus took his words to heart and had stopped displaying any outward signs of emotion in public.

Music started playing again and Elissa could see Nathaniel asking Neria for another dance. The elven girl shook her head and mimicked drinking of water. Nathaniel bowed and walked towards the refreshments table while Neria made her way to Fergus' side.

"Elissa, you look so pretty!" Neria gushed in open admiration while the human girl narrowed her eyes in suspicion at the flattery.

Her long dark brown hair, usually braided and twisted into a bun to keep out of the way of her weapons training, had been let down and brushed to the death by Nan. She also knew that the gown her mother had chosen set off the highlights in her hair from the constant exposure to sun and the green of her eyes. However, she did not think she looked any better than a trussed up chicken. Given the dismissive snort from her brother at Neria's words, Elissa flushed in anger at what she felt was insincere fawning.

Neria batted Fergus' arm in, to Elissa, an overly familiar way. "Stop that! She's lovely!" Smiling dazzlingly up to Nathaniel who was approaching with some mugs in his grasp, she queried "Don't you agree, Nathaniel?"

Elissa held her breath as Nathaniel's eyes roved from the top of her hair to the tips of her booted feet. She had literally put her foot down when her mother had requested for her to wear silk slippers, protesting vehemently enough for her mother to relent on this small detail. Now, as Nathaniel's gaze lingered on her boots, Elissa wondered if she should have given in and just went with her mother's whim.

"She looks almost like a girl for the first time since I have known her." Nathaniel answered in a dry tone before offering the mugs to them. Elissa's ire rose when she noticed that he had first offered the drink to Neria. She tamped down on her raising irritation and gulped the drink without a thought and immediately spluttered, coughing violently.

One of Neria's eyebrow rose as she took a sip of the brew, smacked her lips in appreciation and took a larger swallow. "This is nice. What is it?" She looked in askance at Nathaniel before taking another mouthful.

"It's Orlesian apple cider." Tipping some into his mouth, Nathaniel blinked and continued. "Apparently, it's more alcoholic than what we have in Ferelden. Perhaps, you should not be drinking this." He moved to remove the mug from Neria's hands.

Neria chuckled and twirled away, upending the cup, swallowing the brew in quick swigs. She sighed contentedly and gaily spun. "This is much better than the red wine that they keep in the Circle Tower. Where do I get more? Is it for sale?"

Eyes twinkling, Fergus replied with open affection. "With the new trade agreements, it should be widely available within a year."

"All hail the Couslands!" Neria whooped in sudden exuberance. The hail was taken up by those surrounding them just as Teyrn and Teyrna Cousland joined the merriment. Elissa fumed as she watched her parents incline their heads to the crowd's enthusiastic cheer. _She is such a bootlicker._

The minstrel started a love song and a soft smile grew on Neria's face as she gazed unseeingly into the distance, before closing her eyes to fully concentrate on its words.

O fare you well, I must be gone

And leave you for a while:

But wherever I go, I will return,

If I go ten thousand mile, my dear,

If I go ten thousand mile.

Ten thousand miles it is so far

To leave me here alone,

Whilst I may lie, lament and cry,

And you will not hear my moan, my dear,

And you will not hear my moan.

The crow that is so black, my dear,

Shall change his colour white;

And if ever I prove false to thee,

The day shall turn to night, my dear,

The day shall turn to night.

O don't you see that milk-white dove

A-sitting on yonder tree,

Lamenting for her own true love,

As I lament for thee, my dear,

As I lament for thee.

The river never will run dry,

Nor the rocks melt with the sun;

And I'll never prove false to the girl I love

Till all these things be done, my dear,

Till all these things be done.

As the minstrel repeated the song to the crowd's call for an encore, Neria lifted her voice to join his, pouring her feelings of helplessness in neither being able to stay in her country of birth nor with the one Antivan friend she made outside of the Circle Tower.

Talk started to cease around her as people stopped talking to listen to the sweet and melodious voice mourning for lost love. By the second stanza, the entire courtyard was quiet and quite a few eyes were wet. The minstrel stopped singing before the third stanza after noticing the crowd's mood. However, Neria continued on, even without the accompaniment of music, her voice rang true, never faltering, taking them all through her grief. When she concluded the song on a soft note, there were many who were openly weeping. Neria gazed around her in astonishment, noting Elissa furtively wiping her eyes with a linen handkerchief while Fergus and Nathaniel looked strangely glassy-eyed.

Elissa was the first to find her voice. "That was amazing. You were even better than the minstrel we hired and he came highly recommended from the nobles in Denerim. Where did you learn to sing like this?"

Neria blinked owlishly, shaking her head to clear the mire it had fallen into before grinning radiantly. "Apparently, I'm a natural at this."

* * *

><p>They did not linger in Highever this time, departing immediately at dawn the day after the celebrations. Neria could have done with more time in bed. She had three more mugs of the delicious apple cider after singing song after song. Each time, she noticed that she was able to sway the crowd's mood based on the emotions she poured into the song. As long as the emotion was convergent with the lyrics of the song, the crowd was very soon moved to merriment or sorrow. Even when she deliberately chose to pour emotions that were dissimilar to the spirit of the song, people would react to the emotion she endowed it rather than the song itself.<p>

_Was it a school of magic not taught at the Circle?_ She absently shrugged to herself and made a mental note to research on this too on her return to the Circle Tower. Patting the young mare she was riding, she raised her head to absorb the rays of the sun. She would surely miss this feeling once they were back at the Circle Tower. Although she received more sunlight than other apprentices due to her duties within the herb garden, there was still something different about standing outside directly under the sun versus receiving it from under panes of glass.

Her heart soared as she saw the spire that heralded their impending approach to the Circle Tower. No matter the restrictions and other idiosyncrasies, this place was the only home she had ever known and she was thankful that she was found by Ines all those years ago. She could not imagine her life if she had been sold as a slave, perhaps trained as an assassin like Zevran. At least now she understood her love and thirst for knowledge. If her mother was a Keeper, it was probably in her blood to seek out knowledge and hoard it. Her dexterity probably came from her father. She had seen the way he dual wielded a sword and dagger while fighting the slavers. Despite never knowing her parents, it would seem that she did not fall too far from the tree just like those flowering trees all crowded together in the jungles of Antiva.

She took deep breaths to calm herself when she noticed dark clouds forming overhead. She did not wish to be drenched when shelter was just hours away. Sighing audibly, she reinforced the Force Field spell that she had placed on the boxes of chocolates. Neria could not wait to share her bounty with her friends and the younger apprentices of the Circle Tower. There were very few treats apprentices could afford. She was blessed that she already had skills that earned her money at her age. Whenever she could, she liked to give presents and treats to her friends.

_9:20 Dragon Age, Circle Tower, Lake Calenhad, Ferelden – Neria (10), Anders (15), _Veness_ (11), Jowan (11) , Solona (16)_

It was nightfall by the time they finally disembarked from the Kester's small row boat. Neria smiled beguilingly at Greagoir and asked sweetly. "Would you please help me carry the boxes of chocolates? I miss my friends so much and I don't want to miss dinner either."

Greagoir chuckled good-naturedly and nodded. Once she had safely placed all but one of the boxes in Greagoir's much larger hands, she raced ahead of him and Irving in glee.

Unfortunately, the huge steel doors were surprisingly closed. Neria frowned in annoyance and raised her hands to pound on them. She might as well have saved her strength for her efforts made not the slightest noise. Grumbling under her breath, she waited for Greagoir and Irving to approach before retorting petulantly "It's like they don't welcome us home."

Irving smiled and replied calmly. "They can't possibly know that we would be early, Neria. However, it is rather strange that the doors are closed this early in the evening." Helping Greagoir with Neria's burdens, he motioned for the templar to knock. He was the only one with gauntlets that would protect his hands from the hard steel door.

The doors opened and Ser Bryant peered into the near darkness. "Ser Greagoir? We were not expecting you back for another week."

"It's a long story. I trust that we are in time for dinner?" Greagoir asked throwing an amused glance at Neria.

"They just sat down." Ser Bryant knelt down to give Neria a hug. "Welcome back, lass. How's your voice?"

"It's back." Neria trilled as she hugged him back tightly. While she loved and respected Greagoir, Bryant was her favourite templar. He was much more forgiving of her misadventures than Greagoir could ever be.

Kissing his cheek, she disengaged herself from his arms and hurried towards the dining hall. Bryant laughed heartily. "Still ruled by her stomach I see." Turning to Greagoir and Irving, he raised a speculative eyebrow at their burdens. "Neria's stuff I presume?"

Greagoir sighed long-sufferingly. "Here take this to Cook and have her put them in the ice cellar for Neria." After offloading his cargos to the other man, he continued. "Anything to report?"

Bryant would not meet his eyes and Greagoir frowned at his behaviour, hackles rising. "What is it?"

"We had an escape, Knight-Commander." Bryant reluctantly muttered. "It was one of Neria's friends."

* * *

><p>Small arms came around to hug Anders from the back. Even before hearing her melodious voice, Anders felt himself hardening and knew it is Neria. In spite of all his recent experiences, only Neria has the ability to arouse him like this.<p>

"I'm back!" Neria joyously shouted while kissing Anders' on his back. Thrills ran down his back and blood rushed to his groin in an instant. Anders groaned inwardly in utter misery. Her voice was like a child but it did not stop his lecherous mind from conjuring images not at all suitable for him to be thinking about someone her age. Her proximity was not helping at all. Anders clenched his hands and fought the strong urge to turn around and hug her back. That would only expose his embarrassing state to her and it was not his intention for her to know of the nature of his affections towards her this young.

Neria smirked as she felt Anders stiffening in her hug. Thanks to the time she had spent in Zevran's company, she had a more intimate knowledge of the opposite sex's body language. She swallowed a chuckle and released her hold, peeking out from behind Ander's back with a huge grin on her face.

"I brought back some delicious Antivan chocolate confections for all of you." Neria stated with aplomb, jiggering the large box in her hands. She did a silent count of her friends and a frown started to form on her face. "Jowan, help me with this." She handed the parcel to him before turning to address her female friend. "Veness, where's Aneirin? Has he progressed that well in his studies that he is taking a turn at infirmary duties?"

Tears welled up in Veness' eyes. "Oh, Neria! It's awful! Aneirin escaped and they sent out a hunting party to recapture him." She came round the table to pull Neria into a hug. "They won't hurt him, would they?"

Neria pulled out of Veness' hold with utter astonishment. "He what?" Her mind swirled with the implications of the news. Taking a calming breath, she returned Veness' hug and soothingly patted her friend's back. "It's only his first escape and he specialises in Spirit Healing. They won't hurt him. Even though there are three of us in our group of friends, we Spirit Healers are really very rare, you know." She smiled up assuredly at Veness.

Veness felt herself calm for the very first time since she learnt that they had sent templar hunters after Aneirin. She hugged Neria tighter before releasing her with a grimace of a smile. "It's so good to have you back." Pausing in sudden realisation, she gawked at Neria. "You got your voice back!"

Giggling at Veness' expression, Neria smirked. "Took you long enough to realise it." Catching sight of Jowan lifting the cover of the box of chocolates, she snapped in mock anger. "Jowan! You are not even going to give me a hug before eating those?"

Jowan flushed and dropped his hold on the cover. Placing the box on the dining table, he enveloped Neria in a bear hug and mumbled shyly. "I missed you. Thank the Maker you are back and Senior Enchanter Ines managed to cure your vocal cords."

Neria sighed contentedly and hugged Jowan back with genuine warmth. Anders felt a sharp stab of jealousy at their easy affection which was only exacerbated when Neria replied feelingly. "I missed you too." She grinned when Jowan pressed a kiss on her forehead before releasing her to peer under the cover of the box of chocolates again.

Placing a hand on Anders' arm, she urged him to move over while she squeezed herself between Jowan and him. Anders shuffled uncomfortably as her unique scent of belladonna and lily of the valley wafted up to him. He had once asked Neria about her choice of scents and she had laughingly retorted that they were both deadly and medicinal, beautiful yet tough which was all she wanted to grow up to be.

He took deep breaths to calm himself but that only made her scent cloy further into his nostrils and he was so glad that he was sitting close enough to the table for it to hide his more than obvious state of discomfort. Neria stroked his thigh in concern, so close to his erection he nearly moaned. "Anders, you are very flushed and breathing so heavily. Are you alright?"

He had to clear his throat three times before he managed to squeak out. "I… I'm fine. Have some chicken. Cook's been worried and depressed since you have been away but she must have had one of her premonitions. Today's meal is back to her normal standards." Anders shut his mouth with an audible snap when he realised that he was babbling. _Why does she always reduce me to this imbecilic creature? Why can't I be smooth with her, the one that really matters?_

Neria blinked at Anders' uncharacteristic display of nervousness and decided now was not the time to tease her friend. Turning back to Veness who had re-seated herself opposite them, she asked. "Why did Aneirin escape? Did he finally decide that the Dalish were the place for him or did something happen while I was away?"

She felt Anders stiffen again after her last question and turned curious eyes at him. He avoided her eyes and focused totally on the grilled chicken on his plate. Neria made a mental note to question Anders further on his strange reaction when they were alone. Giving Veness her attention again, she saw tears in her eyes again. "He didn't tell us anything before he left. He didn't even leave a letter…" A sob rose in her throat and Neria reached across the table to pat her hands while a frown started to form on her brows. "But… Anders was especially close to him in the weeks before he made his escape. He-" Now Veness pointed an accusing finger at him. "-would not tell me anything!"

Neria squirmed out of the seat she had taken opposite Veness and made her way around the table to her side. The apprentice who had been sitting beside Veness scooted over without her prompting and she inclined her head in thanks. She was surprised to note that it was Solona Amell and she was watching her with such animosity in her eyes that Neria was momentarily taken aback. Veness's sobs brought her out of her mental shuffling to remember if she had ever done anything to the other apprentice to warrant the hatred she saw in her eyes. Mentally filing away yet another strange response to her return, Neria sat down next to Veness and pulled her into a hug. Barely managing to peer over Veness' shoulder, she stated quietly in a matter of fact tone. "Anders will tell us if there was anything to tell, right Anders?"

Anders gulped nervously. There was strength in Neria's voice despite its childish lilt. Even though the words were innocent but the threat behind it was all the more apparent than if she had shouted it at him. Any internal debate he might have had died in his throat when Neria's eyes, the only part of her face visible behind Veness' shoulders, blazed obsidian. Silently, he sent pulses of magic towards her. _We will talk later, alone._

Neria gave him a barely noticeable nod and soothingly patted her friend's back. She knew that Veness had always looked up to the serious Aneirin and had, perhaps, even a small crush on him. That he had left without a word of his intentions must have cut deep. She will just have to give him a thorough tongue lashing when he is back.

"Come, Veness, have a chocolate." She filched the box out of Jowan's hands, opened the lid of the box and offered Veness the sweet confections. "I have it on good authority that it helps ease emotional hurt." Popping one of them into her mouth, she winked mischievously when Veness gazed doubtfully at her. "Even if that good authority happens to be just me, you believe in my healing abilities, don't you?" Grinning impishly to cover up the weird feeling of unease in her heart, she picked up a random piece and pushed it into her friend's mouth.

* * *

><p>"What do you mean that you believe that there were some issues within the templar order that led to the apprentice's escape?" Greagoir demanded with a weary sigh. Everything was a conspiracy to Ser Bryant. His belief that the mages were content to stay in the Circle Tower and only escaped if forced was ludicrous to Greagoir. That this belief is rooted in his belief that templars or Senior Enchanters were abusing the mages or apprentices only intensified Greagoir's scepticism.<p>

When he had first promised Ines that he would groom someone to take over his role as Knight-Commander, he had considered Ser Bryant but later, before the Divine's decree that templars and mages were no longer allowed to fraternise, he realised that Ser Bryant was much too lenient. He always believed there was a reason for each action, no matter how ridiculous it was. He tolerated too much nonsense from the younger apprentices, barely punishing them for misuse of magic in pranks against their peers, the servants or even the templars.

In the end, he was slightly relieved that the choice was taken away from him with the Divine's proclamation. Ser Bryant would have been too soft for the role.

"Ser Alrick, Ser Rhodri, Ser Hamilton and Ser Frasier were too enthusiastic about hunting down Aneirin for me to dismiss their possible culpability." Bryant replied with steel in his tone. He was not sure if Greagoir had become wilfully blind to the abuses that occurred within the Circle Tower or he really did not realise the extent of it.

"Did it occur to you that they may have just wanted to leave the Circle Tower for a breather?" Greagoir sighed tiredly. "Or that they wanted to fulfil their duty as templars in a more active way?"

"What would it take for you to open your eyes? These children need to be protected. If they are not, they may just turn to other means and become maleficar from lack of choice." Bryant retorted with vehemence. The templars in question were very clever. Never once had he caught them doing anything untoward to Aneirin but the way Aneirin flinched each time a templar approached him or spoke with him told Bryant there was something very amiss.

"Enough!" Greagoir roared in frustration. "You are focusing on plausible misdemeanour from your fellow templars when you should be concentrating on keeping the mages and apprentices in line."

"What happened to you, Greagoir?" Bryant muttered sadly. "Did Ines' departure scar you so much that you do not wish to see with your heart anymore?"

"How dare you! I am your commanding officer!" Greagoir bellowed in rage. "I will not have you insinuating that I have had relations with a mage!"

Bryant stared incredulously at the older man. "You are ashamed of your love for her." Scoffing disbelievingly, he huffed. "I'm glad that Ines is not here to see you go down this road and become the type of templar she hated most."

"I abuse neither mages nor apprentices. How can I be what she hates the most?" Greagoir gritted out of clenched teeth.

"Did you ever really know her? The type of templar she hated most was the ones who were blind to the abuses perpetrated by his fellows, the ones who saw only what they wanted to see rather than felt everything that was not visible to the eye, who blindly followed the Chantry when our duty should be to the mages." With a curt salute, Bryant exited from Greagoir's office.

* * *

><p>"The templars who went out to recapture Aneirin are back!" Veness burst into the apprentices' dormitory, shouting on the top of her voice. "Neria! Hurry! Only you would be able to stop them from punishing Aneirin too drastically!" She raced to Neria's bedside and shook the sleeping elf.<p>

Neria blinked sleepily and sat up slowly. "What time is it?"

"There's still an hour before dawn." Veness replied, barely remembering to suppress her voice. Loud groans greeted her statement.

"Shut up!"

"Would you mind keeping it down?"

"People sleeping here?"

"Sorry!" Veness gushed while pulling Neria out of her bed. Neria allowed herself to be helped up. She was exhausted, both physically and emotionally. She had waylaid Anders before bed and interrogated him. He had told her everything and it had made Neria heartsick to know that Aneirin had been subjected to such abuses to protect them. She knew about Aneirin's previous occupation. He had shared it with her when he was in one of his melancholy moods. She will find out who these templars were and make sure they received the suitable disciplinary punishments, official or unofficial.

Veness and Neria sneaked out to the entrance chamber where a group of four templars were standing in front of an irate Greagoir. "What do you mean he is dead? You do realise that, currently, there are only three Spirit Healers in the Circle Tower? Two of them are not even Harrowed!"

Neria clapped her hand over Veness's mouth when she nearly cried out in anguish. She was barely suppressing her own grief and rage. _Let's see what they have to say first._ Veness calmed down enough to remain silent and still after receiving Neria's pulses of magic.

"Ser Greagoir, we did our best to bring to him back but he resisted and even turned to blood magic to fight us." Ser Alrick placated as best as he could.

This time Neria had to cast Paralyze on Veness to keep her from charging in to dispute the other templar's words. Her hands clenched in anger at the obvious lies. No Spirit Healer would accept a demon's proposal to learn blood magic. Doing so severed the connection between a Spirit Healer and the Spirit bonded to the Healer which aided them in their healing abilities. Given that Aneirin loved his skills in healing, it would be against his nature to succumb. Neria did not wish to imagine in what dire straits he would have had to be in to break this fact.

Greagoir did a double take. "Aneirin turned to blood magic?" He stared intently at the other templar but Ser Alrick did not so much as blink before he nodded. Only Neria noticed the slight twitch in his gauntleted hands, that he had kept behind his back, which gave away his lie.

"Well then, I suppose it cannot be helped. Any injuries?" Greagoir asked dispassionately. He was never spared too much thought over the deaths of blood mages. They were an affliction that, if possible, he wished to rid the world of.

"Ser Rhodri managed to skewer him before there were any serious injuries." Ser Alrick reported in a distinctly gloating tone, gesturing to his fellow templar. He did not know this but he may as well have signed Ser Rhodri's death sentence himself. Neria's eyes blazed cold obsidian as she memorised the templar's name and features. There may not be an official punishment but that did not mean that she would let this injustice go uncorrected.

As she cast Grease on the ground underneath the paralysed Veness and started to drag her friend away, her mind was already planning all the possible scenarios and retribution she could exercise without getting caught or punished.

* * *

><p>Veness raged at Neria all through breakfast for casting Paralyze on her. She did not understand Neria's apparent lack of response to Aneirin's death. She mourned Aneirin's death openly, weeping randomly, glaring at the templars who were involved in his hunt whenever they walked around without their helmets. Word spread and Neria noticed Wynne drawing Greagoir away from the dining table with insistence. It was obvious that the Senior Enchanter had been weeping.<p>

Aneirin had been the only close elven friend Neria had in the Circle Tower. He was the only one who was interested and with whom she could share her findings on elvhen lore. He was also the sobering factor in their group, often vetoing the most reckless and potentially hazardous misadventures. They all felt his absence, sometimes pausing in their discussions expecting him to cut in with his more stoic opinions.

So it was not that Neria did not grieve for Aneirin' death, she was just more subtle about it. She grew more silent, more focused on her research within the library, often reading way past bedtime. The templars never gave her any reason to retaliate even though she exposed herself so enticingly to their perverseness. She wondered if she was still too young to interest them. She did not realise that Ser Bryant had taken to swapping night watch with anyone within the library to watch over her. He kept his helmet on to prevent anyone from knowing it was him but the perpetrators did not appear to molest the young elven mage. It almost made Bryant wonder if he was really overly paranoid as Greagoir had accused him of being.

Neria rarely played anymore, spending all her time reading in the library between meals. She convinced Anders to take up her duties in the infirmary and made fresh batches of potions every morning before breakfast. Book after book she read and searched for information about her curse. Finally she found a section in a book titled Ancient Worship of Old Gods.

_Acolytes of Andoral and Their Gift_

_The acolytes of the Old God, Andoral, were highly blessed for their devotion to her. Each acolyte was given the ability to enslave others through sex, touch, smile or look. The First Acolyte was reputed to have the ability to enslave simply through a focused look into another's eyes._

_The enslavement could last from minutes to years, depending on the frequency and intensity of the act used to enslave the target. It takes a lot less effort on the part of the acolyte if the target is sexually interested in his or her gender. Even less effort is required if the acolyte is pleasing to the eye. A target with whom the First Acolyte, who is usually chosen for his or her physical beauty, has sexual intercourse would likely be enslaved for decades or until the death of the target._

_This gift, although beneficial to the malevolent had considerable unwanted side effects for the benevolent. Firstly, one's physical expressiveness must be tightly controlled. Hugging, touching, even smiling could unwittingly enslave a target. Secondly, sexual interaction normally instantly enslaves a target._

_Fortunately, or unfortunately depending on how one views it, this gift may be returned if the acolyte unwittingly falls in love with someone enslaved to them. The act of making love breaks the enslavement and also causes the acolyte to lose this gift. However, that is not the only thing lost. The acolyte will also lose any inherent talent that he or she was born with and has shaped his or her life. For magic users, it is often magic. For archers or rogues, their dexterity. For warriors, their strength._

_Thus, it is not surprising that acolytes of Andoral were often sexually celibate with the person they love or even totally celibate if they have achieved other means of enslavement, eliminating the need for sex._

_Enslaved people would give their lives before allowing any harm to befall on the acolyte. This is often abused but rarely were there any protests against the act._

_It is rumoured that there existed a handful of very fortunate acolytes who are able to differentiate between the devotion showed by an enslaved target and the true love displayed by those immune to this Gift. However, the characteristics of those with immunity are unknown or unshared._

Neria's eyes had widened with each paragraph. _Just a look to enslave a target? What a look that would have to be._ Her mind churned with the possibilities and she began to detail her plan of vengeance for Aneirin's wrongful death.

* * *

><p>Neria needed people to test her gift on. She did not wish to start with a templar in case anything went wrong but she did not wish to enslave another apprentice. Sorting through her thoughts, she realised to her dismay that she may already have unwittingly enslaved Anders through touch, smiles and looks. Furthermore, she had been doing it nonstop for years.<p>

A devilish thought entered her mind and she decided that since he was likely already enslaved to her, she could safely test the limits of the enslavement without endangering anyone else.

Thus it was that Anders found himself sitting opposite Neria in the library. She was holding his hands and grinning dazzlingly at him. He felt the inevitable rush of blood to his loins and took a deep breath, hoping to calm the flush that he could feel creeping up his neck.

"Anders, if I was in danger, would you die for me?" Neria asked hesitantly.

"Without a doubt, I will never let anything happen to you." Anders replied with barely a thought.

"I learnt that you have been with many women while I was away." Neria started to say matter-of-factly.

"They don't mean anything to me. I am just practising so that I would be good for you." Anders gushed out, again without thinking. He flushed a deep red when he realised what he had inevitably confessed.

Neria blushed. This was harder than she had imagined. For a brief moment she thought back to the dreamscape in which the Desire Demon had trapped her while in the jungles of Antiva. Shaking her head, she gritted out. "I did not mean that. I meant that you have only been with women. Do you not like men?"

"Maker, no! I have no interest in men." Anders retorted with great disgust on his face. "How would that even work?"

Looking deep into his eyes, Neria commanded. "I want you to find out how two men can have sexual intercourse."

Anders' eyes glazed before he blinked and replied. "Okay, for you, I will do it." He stood up and left Neria sitting speechless in the library. She had somehow not expected that to work. By the time she came to her senses and thought to seek out Anders, he was nowhere to be found. Questioning Jowan who was loitering within the common room, Neria found out to her horror that Anders had gone somewhere with Enchanter Karl, a mage transferred from Anderfels, who within a week of his arrival propositioned no less than six male apprentices.

She raced up to the Enchanter quarters and panted in front of the door to Enchanter Karl's room. The sound of rustling cloth caused blood to drain from her face. "Anders! Are you in there?" Neria shouted in desperation. "Anders!"

An oath could be heard within the room. After a full minute, the door opened and Enchanter Karl stood in the doorway blocking Neria's view of the room. "Is there something you needed, Neria?"

"Enchanter Karl, I have something urgent to say to Anders. If he is with you, may I see him?" Neria pleaded, obsidian eyes locking on the enchanter's blue ones. When he did not move aside, Neria placed her small hands on his own and asked again. "Please move aside if Anders is in there."

Enchanter Karl's eyes glazed and he backed away from the door. Neria felt a shiver of fear move down her spine before she took a deep breath and stepped in.

Anders was kneeling face down, fully undressed on the much disarrayed bed with his ass tilted up and opened in offering. "Is she gone? Will you hurry up and finish what you started? I barely got any satisfaction in that first few thrusts."

Tears rolled down Neria's eyes and dismay silenced any protests from escaping her throat. She wordlessly commanded Enchanter Karl with a finger to her mouth not to speak and waved him towards Anders. She exited the room as quietly as she could and sank down beside the door to weep soundlessly. _What have I done?_ She had never meant to hurt Anders this way. As the sounds of moans, groans and finally a shout leaked out of the door next to her, Neria placed her hands over her ears and shook in mute sorrow and regret.

* * *

><p>Ser Rhodri did not think much of it when he seemed to find the young elven mage, Neria, everywhere. She was a sweet child, always smiling and giving affectionate hugs to the people around them, even if they were templars. He has also been a recipient of one of her demonstrations of warmth and had, from that moment on, resolved to protect her from all harm.<p>

They were all waiting for the furore of Aneirin's escape and death to die down before making their move against his group of friends. Anders was too flamboyant and after Aneirin's escape, Senior Enchanter Wynne had taken a very active interest in the young man. Veness was well versed and schooled in the Primal school of magic and that could get out of hand if they did not manage to subdue her in time. That only left Jowan. That apprentice who only managed to learn the weakest of spells and could barely be called a mage. No one had actually thought of touching Neria as she was well liked by everyone and they had practically watched her grow up within the Circle Tower. Raping her would be too appalling when they remembered her stumbling around in her nappies.

Each day, Neria would appear before Ser Rhodri. It killed something in her to smile and hug him as if he was a well-loved uncle but she held on to the thought that, once enslaved, he would, possibly, tell her everything she needed to know. Days flowed into weeks and Neria was finally sure that he is truly enslaved. She had used Anders' reactions to her to gauge and he was well on his way to behaving as her friend did whenever she touched him. She peered up at the unsuspecting templar and smiled her most dazzlingly smile.

"Ser Rhodri?" He looked at her with questions in his eyes. Neria's eyes blazed and she intoned with steel in her voice. "I want to know everything about how Aneirin died."

Ser Rhodri found himself telling Neria all the details of their hunt for the apprentice. She shot rapid fire questions at him about his involvement with Aneirin's death, his participation in abusing Aneirin and finally enquired about the names of his accomplices. Some distant part of his mind was aghast with his revelations but most of him was glad that Neria was happy with his compliance.

Silence reigned after Neria learned the full extent of Aneirin's abuse, torture and murder at their hands. Blue flames leaked out of her and she took deep calming breaths to keep from unleashing it. Her mind raced with the possibilities of a suitable punishment and finally decided to allow Greagoir to handle this.

"You will go to Ser Greagoir and confess everything you have told me from the very beginning. You will also give him the names of your abettors. You will tell him that you had an attack of conscience if he asks you for the reason of your confession. Is that clear?" Neria gritted out through clenched teeth before flashing another fake smile at him.

"Whatever pleases you, Neria." Ser Rhodri rose and made his way to Greagoir's office. Neria hoped that she had made the right decision. Before she left Antiva, Ines had drawn her aside and told her to be more wary of Greagoir. _"He is no longer the Greagoir I fell in love with. The Chantry or the lyrium has warped his mind."_ Neria hoped that Greagoir was not so far gone that he would not punish these rapists and murderers. Heaving a resolute sigh, she shrugged. She had given the opportunity for official resolution to be meted out. If it was not to her satisfaction, she would just have to take things into her own hands again.

* * *

><p>Greagoir stared at Ser Rhodri in utter disbelief and disgust. "Do you have proof of your words?" He ran his hand in his hair, mussing it into tangles.<p>

"Isn't my word proof enough? We were always careful to wait till you were out of the Circle Tower before doing this. No one ever saw us performing the deed." Ser Rhodri replied without remorse.

Greagoir closed his eyes to keep himself from seeing his smirking face. When he opened them again, his eyes were the colour of storm clouds. "You are relieved of your duties until an investigation may be carried out about this." Ser Rhodri saluted him before exiting his office. Greagoir rubbed his knuckle against his forehead. Ser Bryant's words returned to haunt him. Blind, he had been so blind. For such atrocities to have been committed within the Circle Tower under his leadership was a sure sign of his ineffectualness. Now he only hoped that he would be able to protect others from meeting the same fate.

* * *

><p>"I refuse to be so wrongfully accused!" Ser Alrick heatedly defended himself. "I did not do these horrible deeds you have accused me of! I would not be able to vouch for the others but <strong>I<strong> did not do these."

Ser Hamilton and Ser Frasier gawked at his blatant lies.

"You were the one who first suggested and acted on it…" Ser Hamilton started to say even as Ser Alrick turned to pierce him with an indignant glare.

"Lies!" He roared.

"We wanted to patch up the apprentice with poultices and bandages but you wanted to reserve them for yourself." Ser Fraiser sneered. "You kicked his face while he was lying on the ground bleeding to death." Turning to Greagoir, Ser Fraiser started to sob. "I only wanted some relief from the tedium. I did not give a vow of celibacy when I joined the Templar Order. Being inside all day in this place with only a week of holiday when we can visit our family every year, is cruel and inhumane. We aren't allowed to fraternise with each other or the mages. People cannot live like this!"

Ser Hamilton whispered brokenly. "I did not mean for his death. He didn't mind. He was already whoring himself out to feed his family."

Greagoir's face was nearly red with anger and tendons protruded from his throat. "You will all be dismissed without severance or references. Get out and stay out until we complete the necessary documentation."

Ser Alrick bellowed. "You cannot do this to me! My family is related to nobility! I will get them to write to the Grand Cleric about this!"

The door slammed shut as Ser Bryant and Ser Maron quickly ushered the miscreants out of his office. The unsatisfied look on Ser Bryant's face stayed with Greagoir for a much longer time.

* * *

><p><em>Dismissal? Was that Greagoir's idea of a fitting punishment for murder?<em> Neria's eyes blazed obsidian and her body glowed with blue fire. The chair she was sitting on turned to black ash. Anders' eyes widened in shock before Neria found the presence of mind to force her emotions down. She would have to take care of this herself after all.

* * *

><p>The next morning dawned bright and clear outside the Circle Tower. It was almost as if the beauty of the morning heralded a good day for all. As the eldest apprentices filed past the common area to the classrooms, they screamed in discordant tones, vomited or fainted away at the sight that greeted them.<p>

Blood and gore flooded the ground. The smell of stomach contents, human waste and blood permeated the area. Words that were written in blood decorated the walls as if in some morbid design.

Ser Hamilton was kneeling, impaled through his stomach on his own long sword, his intestines littering the ground. Ser Frasier was lying on the floor in a viscous pool of blood, his hands stained from grasping a dagger that had obviously been used to slit his own throat. Ser Rhodri's face was bulged and blue black from hanging on a strip of cloth that had been tossed over the very high ceiling beams.

The templars herding the senior apprentices paled and some of them lost their stomach contents then and there. One of them had the presence of mind to get Greagoir.

Greagoir was visibly shaken at the sight. The words on the wall were: We are abusers, rapists and murderers. Dismissal is too lenient for us. We deserve death. May the Maker have mercy on our souls.

Ser Alrick came charging into the scene. He took one look at the corpses, the words and shouted. "This is the work of a blood mage." Voice gaining volume, he ranted. "Perhaps if we really did these deeds you had accused us of, we were controlled by the blood mage."

Greagoir turned to one of the younger templars. "Go and get Anders, Jowan, Veness and Neria here."

"Neria, Ser? Wouldn't this cause her distress?" The younger templar dared to question.

"That is an order!" Greagoir roared, unable to tolerate any further discussion. "Classes are cancelled today. Go back to your dormitories." Nodding to the templars still capable of taking care of the apprentices, he motioned for them to leave.

Ser Bryant burst into the section and skidded to a stop. His eyes rounded at the sight of the carnage and gulped audibly.

Neria, Anders, Veness and Jowan were herded before Greagoir. Anders paled and immediately ran to a clean corner to regurgitate his breakfast. Veness swayed and only remained standing with the support of Neria. Jowan fell to the ground in a dead faint. Neria was pale and tears were in her eyes as she looked up at Greagoir. "Why did they commit suicide?"

Greagoir stared incredulously at the young elven apprentice. "What makes you think it was suicide? It could have been blood magic? That would explain Ser Rhodri's inexplicable confession."

"Does blood magic not leave any magic traces?" Neria cocked her head curiously. "I distinctly remember that it was the only school of magic to leave very strong magic traces, stronger than any of the other schools. Or did I remember wrongly?"

Greagoir did a double take. Neria was right. He had been so ready to pounce on the excuse of blood magic for his subordinates' inexcusable behaviour that he had not noticed there was no trace of magic in the area.

"The blood mage could have controlled another templar to get him to cleanse the area." Ser Alrick protested zealously.

Neria turned obsidian eyes on Ser Alrick. "You must have been sleeping while they were teaching the effects of a Cleanse."

Ser Alrick gasped at her disrespectful words. "Why you little -!" His hands were raised to backhand her but stopped at Greagoir's cold stare.

"Ser Alrick. You should be very much aware that a Cleanse cannot remove the taint of blood magic. Only the good strong soap and the passage of time can." Ser Greagoir turned to the four apprentices. "You may leave. I was not thinking clearly when I summoned you."

"Anders, help me with Jowan." Neria called out. Anders stumbled over and lopped Jowan's arm around his waist, assisting him to stand. Ser Bryant came over to help too.

They left the gruesome scene behind and were some distance away before Veness softly whispered. "Did you do this?"

Neria levelled a steady glance at her friend. "No, they did this with their own hands."

* * *

><p>Ser Alrick sent a panicked look at Greagoir. "I can't stay here much longer. How long would it take for the papers to be ready?"<p>

"I thought you were not happy with being dismissed for something you did not do?" Greagoir enquired in a mild tone. "Given the very violent way they have admitted their guilt. Perhaps you are not as guilty Ser Rhodri accused, why don't you stay?"

"No… No…" Ser Alrick turn white with fear. "They did not commit suicide. This is the work of a blood mage. I cannot stay here. Even if you don't dismiss me, at least transfer me somewhere else."

Greagoir turned piercing grey eyes at Ser Alrick. He took in his frightened expression and sighed. "Why don't you leave for Denerim now? The report of your crimes is already on its way to the Grand Cleric. I will leave it up to her to sentence you."

"Thank you, Ser Greagoir." Ser Alrick stammered before leaving hastily.

Facing the writing on the wall, Greagoir muttered. "Don't thank me, thank whoever convinced them to do this. No matter what was done to Aneirin, this is too severe a punishment."

_**Author's Notes**_

_I am late and I greatly apologise for this (so sorry to all my loyal supporters, hope you were not too disappointed). Real life has been hectic between work, editing, and freelance work and now school! On top of all these, I had a medical scare. -_-" It has been an upheaval of a month for me. Ah well… Hopefully I would be able to be back within in another fortnight. If not, it would be a month. To put it realistically, around 20 August 2012, which is a week after my exams for this semester. :P Please bear with me on the slow updates._

_The song is an old folk love song titled The True Lover's Farewell._

_I would like to thank Sandrael Lycura, Eona, Corea and Narcoleptic-Since-89 for your continual support and reviews. :)_

_Narcoleptic-Since-89, thanks for adding me to your list of favourite authors. :)_

_Narcoleptic-Since-89 and Princess Gwendolen Diana Julia, thanks for adding me to your list of author alerts in addition to adding __this story to your list of favourites and story alerts. :)_

_Thanks to edroamaar for adding this story in your alert list. :)_

_I would also like to thank all the silent readers of this story. Did you notice? There is now a new review feature. You no longer have to create an account to leave a review. However, I would appreciate a name to thank here if you should decide to leave a guest review. :)_

_It really helps my writing to know what people think of each chapter cause this is my very first fanfiction (yeah, I know, I am starting this a bit late in life :P). So please __**review**__ to let me know if it's a hit or a miss. :)_

_My heart literally soars when I receive notifications of people __**reviewing**__, adding this story to their list of favourites and/or putting this story on their alert list (Yeah, I'm easily contented like that :P). Thank you all so much for your support, it helps to keep me writing and I hope to continue to meet or even exceed expectations in thanks for everyone's support. :)_


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